ft 


EDWARD 

SALISBURY 

FIELD 


•f  J.  wxiv* .;„•. 


PROPERTY 

of  the 


QJtrrulattttg 
iCtbrarg 


Book  No. 


OFFICE 

308-9    MARSH-STRONG   BUILDING 

LOS    ANGELES,   CALIFORNIA 


TWIN  BEDS 


•tiff!?.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


TWIN  BEDS 


By 


EDWARD     SALISBURY    FIELD 

Author  of 
" Jl  Six-Cylinder  Courtship,"  etc. 


NEW      YORK 

W.    J.     WATT    &    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT   1913  BY 

W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


Published  July 


OTHER    NOVELS   BY 

EDWARD    SALISBURY    FIELD 
THE  RENTED  EARL 
THE  PURPLE  STOCKINGS 
THE  SAPPHIRE  BRACELET 
CUPID'S  UNDERSTUDY 
A  SIX-CYLINDER  COURTSHIP 


TWIN  BEDS 

CHAPTER  I 

I  HAD  intended  buying  just  an  ordi- 
nary bed,  but  the  clerk  at  Howard 
and  Morgan's  said  twin  beds  were  stylish 
and  everybody  was  using  them.  "My 
wife  and  I  use  them,"  he  said,  "and  we 
find  them  a  great  comfort  because  I  have 
the  habit  of  kicking  in  my  sleep." 

I  told  him  Henry  didn't  kick,  but  he 
was  a  restless  sleeper  and  maybe  twin 
beds  would  be  a  good  thing.  And  he 
said  he  was  sure  I  ought  to  take  them, 
and  if  they  weren't  satisfactory  I  could 
send  them  back.  So  I  said :  ' '  All  right, 
if  that's  the  case  I'll  take  them  and  put 
our  bed  in  Ma's  room.  For  you  see  Ma 
'  7 


2129495 


TWIN  BEDS 

vas  coming  to  visit  us  and  we  needed  an 
extra  bed  for  her  to  sleep  in.  And  then 
I  bought  some  more  furniture,  for  Henry 
and  I  had  never  furnished  the  extra 
room  in  our  flat  except  to  put  window 
shades  in  it,  and  matting  on  the  floor. 

That  night  at  dinner  I  told  Henry 
about  the  twin  beds,  and  he  said  he'd 
often  seen  them  in  store  windows  and 
wondered  who  used  them,  but  he  guessed 
they  must  be  all  right  if  the  clerk  at 
Howard  and  Morgan's  recommended 
them.  And  I  said  the  clerk  seemed  a 
very  intelligent  man  even  if  he  did  kick 
in  his  sleep.  Besides,  we  could  send  the 
beds  back  if  we  didn  't  like  them. 

"  There's  your  Ma  to  consider, 
though,"  said  Henry. 

"What  about  Ma?"  I  asked. 

"Your  Ma's  old-fashioned,  and  she 
may  think  it  queer  our  having  twin 
beds." 

8 


'Your  Ma's  old   fashioned  and  she  may  think  it  queer  our  having 

twin  beds" 


TWIN  BEDS 

' l  Don  rt  you  worry  about  that, ' '  I  said. 
"Ma's  never  been  in  New  York  before, 
and  everything  will  seem  queer  to  her 
at  first." 

I  hadn't  seen  Ma  for  a  whole  year — 
not  since  Pd  gone  back  home  for  Pa's 
funeral — and  I  was  never  so  glad  to  see 
anybody  in  my  life.  I  could  tell  from  the 
way  she  clung  to  me  on  the  platform  of 
the  station  she  was  mighty  glad  to  see 
me,  too,  for  she  ain't  the  demonstrative 
kind,  and  never  was.  You  Ve  got  to  take 
Ma's  love  for  granted  as  far  as  her  tell- 
ing you  about  it  is  concerned,  but  if  you 
were  in  trouble,  or  sick,  she'd  work  her 
fingers  to  the  bone  for  you,  and  die  for 
you,  too,  if  necessary,  and  you  knew  it. 
I  guess  there  ain't  any  better  kind  of 
love  than  that. 

"Well,  Ma  kissed  Henry,  too,  and 
Henry  took  her  trunk-check  and  gave 
9 


TWIN  BEDS 

it  to  an  expressman,  and  then  we  walked 
around  to  our  flat  which  is  on  East  123d 
Street.  And  then  I  got  dinner,  and  we 
spent  the  evening  talking  about  things 
back  in  Centerville,  Ma  telling  us  all  the 
news,  which  wasn't  much  except  that 
Charlie  Sprague  's  second  wife  had  come 
down  with  typhoid  fever  from  drinking 
water  from  a  well  that  had  microbes  in 
it,  and  Evangeline,  our  Holstein  cow,  had 
had  a  calf  which  Ma  had  named  Zephyr 
because  there  was  a  cyclone  in  Ohio  the 
day  it  was  born. 

I  don't  suppose  youVe  ever  heard  of 
it,  but  there 's  lots  worse  places  than  Cen- 
terville. It's  a  little  town  in  Indiana, 
about  thirty  miles  from  Indianapolis, 
and  you  can  go  all  the  way  to  Terre 
Haute  from  there  on  a  trolley  car  if  you 
want  to,  though  I  've  never  heard  of  any- 
body doing  it. 

Ma  was  born  and  raised  in  Centerville, 
10 


TWIN  BEDS 

and  I  was,  too.  So  was  Henry,  for  that 
matter.  But  Henry  left  there  when  he 
was  eighteen  years  old,  going  first  to 
Chicago,  and  later  coming  to  New  York. 
It  was  while  he  was  back  on  a  visit  to 
his  folks  that  we  fell  in  love  with  each 
other  and  got  married.  Pa  was  alive 
then,  of  course,  and  my  sister  Lizzie  was 
still  in  High  School.  Lizzie's  married 
now,  and  living  'way  out  in  Montana,  and 
Pa  died  a  year  ago  last  April.  That's 
how  we  finally  got  Ma  to  come  on  and 
make  us  a  visit.  Poor  Ma !  She  wasn't 
happy  in  Centerville  any  more,  or  in 
New  York,  either,  when  it  comes  to  that. 
But  she  was  a  lot  happier  when  she  left 
for  Centerville  last  week  than  she  was 
when  she  came  to  us,  so  I  guess  New 
York  ain  't  such  a  bad  place  after  all. 

But  to  go  back  to  that  first  night. 
After  Ma  had  gone  to  bed,  which  was 
early  because   she  was  tired,  I  asked 
11 


TWIN  BEDS 

Henry  how  he  thought  she  was  look- 
ing. 

"Well,"  said  Henry,  "she's  certainly 
a  lot  deafer  than  she  was. ' ' 

"Yes,  she  don't  hear  anything  like  as 
good  as  she  used  to,"  I  admitted.  You 
see  Ma  caught  the  measles  late  in  life 
and  it  sort  of  settled  in  her  ears. 

"And  I  may  be  wrong,  but  she  seems 
kind  of  worn  and  broken." 

'  *  Don 't  you  believe  it, "  I  said.  ' '  Ma 's 
just  tired  out  with  that  long  trip;  she's 
got  more  spirit  this  minute  than  you 
and  me  put  together.  Did  you  notice  the 
way  she  looked  at  you  when  you  smoked 
that  cigarette  after  dinner!" 

"No,"  said  Henry,  "I  wasn't  notic- 
ing." 

"Well,  Ma  didn't  like  it,  and  if  I  was 
you  I  wouldn't  smoke  any  more  ciga- 
rettes when  she's  around." 

"All  right,"  said  Henry.  "If  you 
12 


TWIN  BEDS 

want  the  truth,  I'm  kind  of  scared  of 
your  Ma." 

"So  am  I,"  I  said,  and  I  meant  it. 
For  there's  no  use  talking,  Ma  had  a 
way  of  looking  at  you  when  she  thought 
you  were  doing  wrong  that  made  you 
feel  like  thirty  cents,  even  when  you 
knew  you  had  a  perfect  right  to  be  do- 
ing what  you  were.  Nothing  would  have 
convinced  Ma  that  smoking  cigarettes 
wasn't  as  much  a  crime  in  its  way  as 
arson  or  highway  robbery.  But  I  guess 
there's  lots  of  women  in  Indiana  who 
feel  the  same  as  Ma;  there  must  be  or 
else  the  Legislature  wouldn't  have 
passed  that  law  sending  cigarette-smok- 
ers to  jail.  Just  the  same,  I  didn't  want 
Ma's  visit  to  work  any  hardship  on 
Henry,  so  I  told  him  if  he  felt  like  a 
cigarette  after  dinner  he  could  go  in  our 
bedroom  and  smoke  out  of  the  window, 
and  he  promised  he  would. 
13 


TWIN  BEDS 

It's  funny  about  Ma.  She's  only  a 
wisp  of  a  woman,  barely  coming  up  to 
my  shoulders,  me  being  five  feet  four 
and  rather  stoutish,  though  Henry  says 
I'm  just  right,  and  I'm  sure  I'm  satis- 
fied if  he  is.  Yet  Pa  was  afraid  of  Ma, 
and  Pa  stood  six  feet  one  in  his  stock- 
ing feet,  and  was  as  strong  as  an  ox. 
He  had  plenty  of  spirit,  too,  in  certain 
ways,  but  not  where  Ma  was  concerned. 
When  Ma  told  him  to  do  a  thing,  he  did 
it,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 

Our  flat  is  the  kind  that's  called  a  push- 
button flat,  which  means  you  push  a  but- 
ton in  the  hall  to  unlock  the  front  door 
downstairs.  It 's  on  the  third  floor,  too, 
and  isn't  very  modern;  no  electric  lights 
— nothing  but  gas.  But  it's  on  a  corner, 
so  we  get  plenty  of  light  and  air;  also, 
the  rent  is  reasonable,  and  we're  near 
the  subway,  which  is  convenient. 

I  showed  Ma  over  the  flat  next  morn- 
14 


TWIN  BEDS 

ing,  and  she  thought  it  mighty  queer  to 
live  with  one  family  over  you,  and  two 
underneath,  not  to  mention  the  janitor 
and  his  wife  and  five  children  in  the 
basement.  And  when  she  found  out  I 
didn't  know  any  of  my  neighbors  except 
the  janitor,  she  was  surprised ;  but  I  told 
her  nobody  knows  their  neighbors  in  New 
York.  And  she  did  think  it  odd  about 
the  twin  beds.  "What  are  they  for?" 
she  asked. 

"To  sleep  in,  Ma." 

"What  did  you  say,  Blanche?" 

"I  said  they're  to  sleep  in." 

"But  why  do  you  have  two  beds?" 

"It's  the  fashion,  Ma." 

"Mighty  strange  fashion,"  said  Ma. 
And  then  she  asked  me  point-blank  if 
Henry  and  I  had  quarreled.  And  when 
I  told  her  that  Henry  was  the  best  man 
in  the  world,  and  never  a  hard  word  had 
passed  between  us  since  we  were  mar- 
15 


TWIN  BEDS 

ried,  I  could  see  she  didn't  half -believe 
me.  "But  no  matter,"  I  thought; 
"she'll  see  for  herself,  living  right  here 
in  the  same  flat  with  us.*' 

That  night  at  dinner  when  Henry 
asked  her  what  she  thought  of  New 
York,  she  said  she  was  disappointed  in 
it. 

"What  did  you  expect,  Ma?"  asked 
Henry. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ma,  "but  I  ex- 
pected it  would  be  different." 

I  knew  exactly  what  she  meant,  for 
I'd  felt  the  same  way  when  I  first  came 
to  New  York.  So  I  said:  "Never 
mind,  Ma.  Living  in  New  York  is  like 
having  prickly  heat ;  you  never  really  en- 
joy it,  but  by-and-by  you  get  used  to  it. ' ' 

"I  wouldn't  live  in  a  place  where  I 

couldn't  know  my  neighbors,"  said  Ma. 

"And  I  don't  think  it's  healthy  to  live 

cooped  up  like  chickens  the  way  you  and 

16 


TWIN  BEDS 

Henry  do,  with  nothing  but  a  rubber 
plant  to  keep  you  company.  Now  in 
Centerville  there's  Brush,  the  dog,  and 
Evangeline  and  her  calf,  and  Mazourka, 
the  cat,  and —  Did  I  tell  you,  Blanche, 
that  Mazourka  had  kittens  last  month? 
And  then  there's  the  trees,  and  flowers, 
and  the  vegetable  garden,  and — " 

"Malaria  and  mosquitoes,"  said 
Henry.  "Don't  forget  them." 

"There  ain't  any  malaria  in  Center- 
ville," declared  Ma;  "it's  the  healthiest 
town  for  its  size  in  Indiana.  I  wish  you 
and  Blanche  would  move  back  there  and 
settle  down." 

"We  can't  now,  Ma,"  I  said,  "but 
maybe  some  day — " 

"Yes,"  said  Henry,  "maybe  some 
day—" 

I  suppose  there's  lots  of  folks  who 
think,  like  Henry  and  me,  that  some  day 
they'll  move  back  to  the  country,  and 
17 


TWIN  BEDS 

enjoy  life  like  they  used  to;  though  the 
chances  are  if  the  time  ever  comes  when 
they  can  go,  they'll  have  become  so  used 
to  New  York  that  they  won't  be  happy 
away  from  it.  Anyway,  when  I  do  pray, 
which  ain't  as  often  as  it  might  be,  I 
pray  that  both  me  and  Henry  will  keep 
our  simple  tastes  and  not  be  led  astray 
by  Dead  Sea  apples,  which  look  like  ap- 
ples but  ain't,  being  full  of  sackcloth  and 
ashes  on  the  inside. 

But  to  get  back  to  Ma.  When  she  got 
more  used  to  the  way  we  lived  she  didn't 
mind  it  so  much ;  she  watered  the  rubber 
plant,  helped  with  the  cooking  and  mend- 
ing, and  every  afternoon  we  went  to  a 
moving-picture  show.  So  you  see,  what 
with  the  housework  and  the  moving-pic- 
ture shows,  Ma  had  plenty  to  occupy  her 
mind;  and  though  she  didn't  like  New 
York  at  first,  before  she'd  been  with  us 
three  days  she'd  perked  up  a  lot,  and 
18 


TWIN  BEDS 

become  quite  cheerful.  Ma  liked  change 
and  excitement  as  well  as  the  next  one. 
And  there  was  plenty  of  excitement 
ahead  of  her — plenty !  Only,  of  course, 
I  didn't  know  it  at  the  time. 

And  now  we  come  to  Ma's  first  Sat- 
urday night  with  us.  "Well,  Saturday, 
after  dinner,  Henry  went  out.  He  al- 
ways goes  out  Saturday  nights;  it's  an 
arrangement  we  made  when  we  were 
first  married:  every  Wednesday  night 
Henry  takes  me  anywhere  I  want  to  go 
— usually  to  the  theater — and  every  Sat- 
urday night  he  goes  to  a  bowling  alley 
over  on  125th  Street  and  bowls  with  a 
couple  of  men  he  knows.  Henry  is 
crazy  about  bowling,  and  I  think  it's 
good  exercise  for  him,  being  shut  up  in 
an  office  all  week  the  way  he  is.  So  after 
dinner  he  kissed  me  good-by,  the  same 
as  he  always  did,  and  went  off  to  meet  his 
friends. 

19 


TWIN  BEDS 

But  if  I'd  known  how  he  was  coming 
home  that  night,  I  never  would  have  let 
him  go. 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  a  warm  night;  so  after  we'd 
washed  the  dishes,  Ma  and  I  went 
into  our  bedroom,  Henry's  and  mine, 
to  sit,  it  having  three  windows  and  be- 
ing the  coolest  room  in  the  flat.  I  could 
see  Ma  didn't  approve  of  Henry's  going 
out,  but  I  thought  I  wouldn't  say  any- 
thing about  it,  for  if  I  started  explain- 
ing it  would  give  Ma  an  opportunity  to 
find  fault  with  Henry.  So  I  read  the 
evening  paper  and  a  magazine  while  Ma 
knitted  away  on  some  bedroom  slippers 
she  was  making  for  Henry.  Ma's  aw- 
ful good  at  knitting ;  she  knows  more  dif- 
ferent stitches  than  anybody  in  Center- 
ville. 

Now  and  then  I'd  stop  my  reading  to 
21 


TWIN  BEDS 

glance  at  Ma,  and  my!  but  she  looked 
grim.  You  can  say  what  you  please,  but 
there  are  such  things  as  thought  waves. 
Ma  was  sending  them  out  against  Henry 
enough  to  drown  him,  and  I  knew  it  just 
as  well  as  if  I'd  seen  them.  When  Ma 
gets  it  into  her  head  that  you're  doing 
wrong,  she  just  naturally  clouds  up  like 
a  thunder  storm,  and  by-and-by  she  rains. 

That  night  the  storm  held  off  till  about 
ten  o  'clock,  when  Ma  started  it  by  glanc- 
ing at  the  clock  on  the  bureau  and  asking 
if  it  wasn't  time  Henry  was  home 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Where's  he  gone?"  asked  Ma. 

"He's  out  with  his  friends,"  I  said. 

"What  did  you  say,  Blanche?" 

"He's  out  with  his  friends,"  I  re- 
peated, raising  my  voice. 

You  see,  I  wasn't  used  to  Ma  being 
so  deaf,  and  half  the  time  I'd  forget  and 
use  my  natural  voice.  Ma  didn't  like 
22 


TWIN  BEDS 

that,  maintaining  as  she  did  that  she 
wasn't  really  deaf,  only  a  little  hard  of 
hearing,  and  if  people  would  speak  dis- 
tinctly instead  of  mumbling  their  words, 
she  could  hear  as  good  as  anybody.  To 
prove  it  she  would  tell  how  she  could  al- 
ways catch  everything  Letitia  Barlow 
said,  Letitia  being  her  cousin's  husband's 
sister.  But  Letitia  had  one  of  those  car- 
rying voices,  it  being  a  trait  of  the  Bar- 
lows, her  brother  having  the  same. 

Of  course,  Ma  wanted  to  know  what 
Henry's  friends  were,  and  what  he  was 
doing  with  them,  and  I  told  her  that  one 
of  them  was  a  paying  teller  in  a  bank  and 
the  other  was  a  shipping  clerk  in  a  whole- 
sale leather  house,  and  that  they  were 
probably  talking  politics,  not  thinking  it 
necessary  to  explain  that  they  were 
bowling,  knowing  mighty  well  Ma 
wouldn't  approve  of  bowling.  But  Ma 
didn't  approve  of  anything  that  night. 
23 


TWIN  BEDS 

"It  ain't  right,"  she  said.  "I  never 
let  your  Pa  go  out  at  night  like  that." 

"I'll  just  not  argue  with  Ma,"  I 
thought,  so  I  didn't  say  anything.  But 
you've  got  to  argue  with  Ma  when  she 
wants  to  argue. 

"Blanche!"  said  she. 

"Yes,  Ma." 

"When  your  Pa  went  out  at  night  I 
always  went  with  him." 

"Poor  Pa!"  I  said. 

"What  did  you  say,  Blanche?" 

"I  said  I  know  you  did,  Ma." 

"Henry  hadn't  ought  to  go  out  nights 
and  leave  you  alone  like  this." 

"I  ain't  alone,  Ma;  you're  here. 
Don't  you  want  to  look  at  the  evening 
paper?" 

"No,"  said  Ma,  "I  don't  want  to  look 
at  the  newspaper,  and  I  will  be  heard. 
Henry  hadn't  ought  to  go  out  at  night 
alone ;  it 's  no  way  to  do. ' ' 
24 


TWIN  BEDS 

"But  it's  Saturday  night,  Ma,"  I  said; 
" that's  Henry's  night  out." 

And  then  Ma  began.  Pa  had  never 
had  a  night  out,  so  why  should  Henry? 
It  wasn't  safe  for  married  men  to  go 
gallivanting  around  alone  nights ;  it  gave 
them  wrong  ideas.  What  if  Henry  did 
work  hard  all  week?  Hadn't  Pa  worked 
hard,  too?  Hard  work  was  good  for 
men ;  it  kept  them  from  getting  too  skit- 
tish. Besides,  New  York  wasn't  like 
Centerville.  New  York  was  a  wicked 
city,  full  of  temptations.  "And  you 
needn't  tell  me  times  has  changed,"  said 
Ma;  "men  are  just  the  same  as  they  al- 
ways was. ' ' 

"Yes,  Ma,"  I  said,  "but  women 
ain't." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  said  Henry  has  a  perfect  right  to 
go  out  Saturday  nights  if  I  let  him." 

"You  shouldn't  let  him,"  said  Ma. 
25 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Your  Pa  wouldn't  have  dared  ask  for  a 
night  out." 

"Poor  Pa!"  I  said. 

"What's  that  about  your  Pa?" 

"Nothing,  Ma.  I  said  Henry  didn't 
ask  for  a  night  out ;  I  gave  it  to  him. " 

"Well,  it  ain't  right,"  declared  Ma. 
"If  Henry  loved  you  the  way  he  ought 
to,  he  wouldn't  want  to  leave  you." 

Of  course,  I  told  Ma  she  was  wrong 
and  that  Henry  loved  me  all  the  better 
for  leaving  me  once  in  a  while.  And 
then  I  tried  to  steer  the  conversation 
away  from  New  York,  and  around  back 
again  to  Centerville.  But  Ma  wouldn't 
have  it. 

"Blanche!"  said  she. 

"What,  Ma?" 

"Is  Henry  a  drinking  man?" 

"Good  gracious,  no!"  I  said,  not 
thinking  it  necessary  to  mention  that 
though  he  never  drinks  any  other  time, 
26 


TWIN  BEDS 

Henry  likes  his  beer  Saturday  nights, 
bowling  being  hot  work. 

"Well,"  said  Ma,  "he'll  grow  to  be 
one,  you  mark  my  words.  And  when  he 
does,  you'll  remember  what  I  told  you. 
Your  Pa  never  touched  a  drop  in  his  life, 
I'm  glad  to  say.  What  are  you  smiling 
at,  Blanche?" 

What  I  was  smiling  at  was  the  memory 
of  Pa  once  at  the  County  Fair  when  he 
had  what  Ma  thought  was  a  dizzy  spell. 
It  was  the  time  one  of  our  hogs  won  a 
first  prize,  and  Pa  couldn't  have  been 
blamed  for  celebrating.  But  of  course 
I  couldn't  tell  Ma  this,  so  I  said  I  was 
just  smiling  at  nothing  at  all  in  particu- 
lar. 

Ma  looked  at  me  kind  of  suspicious 
over  her  spectacles,  and  then  went  on: 
"If  Henry  belonged  to  me,  I'd  make  him 
stay  at  home.  What  was  good  enough 
for  me  and  your  Pa  ought  to  be  good 
27 


TWIN  BEDS 

enough  for  you.  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
speak  to  Henry." 

"Don't  you  do  it,  Ma,"  I  said.  "You 
leave  Henry  alone. ' ' 

"But  some  one  had  ought  to  speak  to 
him,"  insisted  Ma. 

"Now  see  here,  Ma,"  I  said. 
"Henry's  my  man,  and  I  understand 
him.  For  the  love  of  Mike,  don't  go 
butting  in!" 

Ma  looked  puzzled.  "What's  that 
about  Henry's  buttons?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing,  Ma;  I  said  you  can  talk  to 
me  as  much  as  you  like,  but  you've  got  to 
leave  Henry  alone." 

"But  it  ain't  right,"  said  Ma. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  I  said.  "You've 
got  to  leave  Henry  alone.  I'm  sure  you 
never  took  any  interference  from  your 
mother-in-law. ' ' 

"But  I  ain't  your  mother-in-law." 

"You're  Henry's,  and  if  you  want  him 
28 


TWIN  BEDS 

to  love  you,  you've  just  naturally  got  to 
let  him  alone." 

Ma  didn't  like  that.  "Ain't  I  good  to 
Henry?"  she  asked.  "Ain't  I  knitting 
these  bedroom  slippers  for  him  this  very 
minute?" 

"Yes,  Ma." 

"Then  I'd  like  to  know  what  you 
mean." 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,  Ma.  I  won 't  have 
you  picking  on  Henry.  He's  a  good 
man,  and  he's  my  man,  and  I  won't  let 
anybody  pick  on  him. ' ' 

With  that,  I  got  up  out  of  my  chair  and 
said  I  guessed  it  was  bedtime,  and  Ma 
said  she  guessed  so,  too,  but  she'd  sit 
where  she  was  for  a  spell  while  I  was 
undressing,  as  it  was  more  sociable. 
And  then  she  put  away  her  knitting,  and 
started  to  read  the  evening  paper,  while 
I  got  out  Henry's  pyjamas  and  laid  them 
on  his  bed,  took  off  my  waist,  slipped  on 
29 


TWIN  BEDS 

a  dressing  jacket,  and  began  taking  down 
my  hair. 

"Thank  goodness  that's  over!"  I 
thought.  "Ma  just  had  to  have  her  say, 
and  now  she's  had  it  she  feels  better,  and 
there's  no  harm  done.  I  don't  believe 
she  '11  say  a  word  to  Henry. ' ' 

So  I  took  down  my  hair,  commenced 
combing  out  my  switch,  and  was  just  be- 
ginning to  feel  real  peaceful,  when  Ma 
looked  up  from  her  newspaper  and  said : 
"I  see  those  Kockabilts  are  getting  a  di- 
vorce. The  paper  says  he's  a  drinking 
man  like  Henry." 

That  made  me  mad.  "Look  here, 
Ma,"  I  said,  "I  told  you  Henry  wasn't  a 
drinking  man. ' ' 

"Well,  maybe  he  ain't,"  said  Ma,  "but 

he  smokes  cigarettes.    Your  Pa  used  to 

smoke  when  we  was  first  married,  but 

I  broke  him  of  it  in  two  weeks.    He  was 

30 


TWIN  BEDS 

mighty  uncomfortable  at  first  till  he 
found  out  that  chewing  cloves  would  cure 
his  hankering  for  tobacco.  After  that 
he  never  smoked  at  all,  just  chewed 
cloves.  I  guess  I'll  recommend  cloves  to 
Henry." 

That  made  me  smile,  knowing  as  I  did 
how  Pa  used  to  escape  to  the  barn  and 
smoke  a  pipe  he  kept  hidden  there.  But 
of  course  I  didn't  let  on.  "All  right, 
Ma,"  I  said,  "you  can  tell  Henry  that  if 
you  want  to." 

"Here's  a  man,"  said  Ma,  "that  was 
completely  cured  of  his  rheumatism  in 
three  days  by  using  Warner's  Rheuma- 
tism Remedy.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  try 
a  bottle  of  that.  Goodness,  Blanche,  if 
you  ain't  wearing  a  switch!  Did  you 
ever  put  kerosene  on  your  head?  Yon 
remember  Martha  Winters  that  used  to 
live  across  the  street  from  us  in  Center- 
31 


TWIN  BEDS 

ville  f  She  was  perfectly  bald  on  top  till 
she  used  kerosene  on  her  head,  and  then 
her  hair  grew  out  like  anything." 

Of  course,  I  ain't  bald,  having  plenty 
of  hair  of  my  own  except  for  the  new 
styles,  which  I  told  Ma. 

"It  only  seems  yesterday  that  I  used 
to  curl  your  hair  around  a  piece  of 
broomhandle,"  said  Ma.  "My,  how 
time  does  fly ! " 

"Yes,"  I  said,  laying  down  my  switch 
and  taking  up  my  hair-brush,  "it  does, 
and  that's  a  fact."  Then,  as  Ma  didn't 
say  anything,  I  began  brushing  my  hair 
and  thinking  about  when  I  was  a  kid,  and 
how  Charley  Sprague  used  to  be  sweet 
on  me,  and  give  me  candy,  and  hang 
around  after  school  to  walk  home  with 
me.  Charley  always  said  he'd  never 
marry  anybody  but  me,  and  here  he  was 
married  twice  with  a  good  chance  of 
burying  his  second  wife,  she  being  sick 
32 


TWIN  BEDS 

with  typhoid  fever  from  drinking  water 
o  it  of  a  well  with  microbes  in  it. 

I  was  thinking  how  queer  things  turned 
out,  and  how  little  you  know  what 's  wait- 
ing for  you  just  around  the  corner,  when 
all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  kind  of  sob, 
and,  looking  around,  I  saw  Ma  had  her 
spectacles  off  and  was  wiping  her  eyes. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Ma?"  I 
asked. 

"I'm  lonely,  Blanche;  I  miss  your 
Pa." 

"There,  there,"  I  said,  going  over  and 
putting  my  arms  around  her,  " don't  you 
cry." 

"I  ain't  crying,"  said  Ma,  putting  on 
her  spectacles  and  blowing  her  nose. 
"Only  it  came  over  me  all  of  a  sudden- 
like.  It's  a  hard  world,  Blanche.  I 
ain't  resigned  like  the  minister  told  me 
to  be,  and  praying  don't  do  any  good. 
I'm  just  waiting  to  be  took.  It's  mortal 
33 


TWIN  BEDS 

hard  just  sitting  around  waiting  to  be 
took." 

"You  mustn't  talk  like  that,  Ma,"  I 
said.  "Henry  and  I  will  always  love 
you." 

"I  know,"  said  Ma,  "but  that's  differ- 
ent. Pa's  gone." 

"He^s  waiting  for  you,  Ma." 

"Yes,  I  know  he  is.  That's  the  trou- 
ble. He's  up  there  waiting  for  me,  and 
I'm  here  and  I  can't  go  to  him.  Do  you 
think  he  misses  me,  Blanche?" 

"I'm  sure  he  does,  Ma." 

"It  ain't  according  to  the  Bible,  but  I 
hope  he  misses  me." 

"You  want  him  to  be  happy,"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Ma,  "but  not  without  me. 
I  suppose  it's  wicked  to  feel  like  that,  but 
I  can't  help  it." 

"I  don't  care  whether  it's  wicked  or 
not,"  I  said.  "I'd  feel  just  the  same 
way  if  Henry  was  took,  and  so  would 
34 


TWIN  BEDS 

any  woman  that  loved  her  husband. 
What  gets  me,  Ma,  is  what  happens  to 
people  like  Charley  Spragne  who  marry 
again.  It  must  be  mighty  embarrassing 
to  meet  your  first  up  there  and  have  to 
explain  to  her  that  you're  waiting  for 
your  second;  or  maybe  meet  them  both 
up  there  at  the  same  time.  I  guess  that 
would  be  a  sight  worse. ' ' 

"Maybe  one  of  them  wouldn't  go  to 
Heaven,"  said  Ma.  "Anyway,  it's  a 
comfort  to  me  to  know  your  Pa's  in 
Heaven,  and  not  in  the  other  place, 
Blanche!" 

"Yes,  Ma." 

"I  won't  say  a  word  to  Henry.  I 
guess  all  mother-in-laws  are  the  same, 
but  I'll  leave  you  paddle  your  own  ca- 
noe, even  if  I  do  think  you're  paddling  it 
wrong. '  * 

"Thank  you,  Ma." 

"But  don't  you  think  I  approve  of 
35 


TWIN  BEDS 

Henry's  going  out  alone  nights,  for  I 
don't." 

With  that,  Ma  went  off  to  bed,  and  I 
turned  the  gas  low  in  the  hall,  and  then 
I  went  to  bed,  too,  for  Henry  doesn't 
like  me  to  sit  up  for  him.  But,  some- 
how, instead  of  going  to  sleep  right  away 
like  I  generally  do,  I  got  to  thinking 
over  what  Ma  had  said,  and  wondering 
if,  after  all,  the  old-fashioned  way  wasn't 
best.  Supposing  Henry  was  to  get  into 
temptation,  going  out  alone  Saturday 
night  the  way  he  did?  Women  are  like 
that;  you  sow  a  doubt  in  their  minds, 
and  if  they  ain't  careful,  the  first  thing 
they  know  it's  growing  like  the  grain  of 
mustard  seed  in  the  Bible. 

Maybe  Henry  didn  't  bowl  every  Satur- 
day night;  maybe  his  friends  were 
wicked  and  were  leading  him  astray.  Of 
course,  I  knew  this  wasn't  true.  But 
there  was  Pa,  as  good  a  man  as  ever 
36 


Suppose  Henry  was  to  get  into  temptation  going  out  alone  Saturday 

night 


TWIN  BEDS 

lived ;  and  yet  he  used  to  deceive  Ma  in 
little  things  right  along.  That's  one  rea- 
son I'd  been  so  liberal  with  Henry.  I 
began  to  wonder  what  I'd  do  if  Henry 
did  drink  too  much  some  Saturday  night, 
and  come  home  like  that,  and  I  guess 
I'd  have  ended  by  being  perfectly  mis- 
erable if  what  little  common  sense  I  pos- 
sess hadn't  come  to  the  front  just  then. 
"Blanche  Hawkins,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"you're  a  fool!  Henry's  the  best  man 
in  the  world,  and  you  know  it.  Now  you 
go  to  sleep!"  And  I  did. 

I  don't  believe  I'd  been  asleep  ten  min- 
utes when  I  woke  all  of  a  sudden  with 
the  idea  that  the  flat  was  on  fire.  No,  it 
was  the  front  door-bell  ringing.  What 
did  that  mean? 

Of  course,  after  I'd  collected  my  wits, 

I  knew  exactly  what  it  meant;  Henry 

had  gone  off  without  his  keys  again. 

That's  one  thing  about  Henry,  he's  the 

37 


TWIN  BEDS 

forgetfulest  man  I  ever  knew.  So  I  got 
out  of  bed,  went  out  into  the  hall  and 
pushed  the  button  that  opens  the  front 
door  downstairs;  and  when  I'd  heard 
that  door  slam,  I  unfastened  the  hall  door 
of  our  flat  and  then  went  back  to  bed. 
And  pretty  soon  I  heard  the  hall  door 
close,  and  then  I  pretended  to  be  asleep ; 
for  it  worries  Henry  when  he  forgets  his 
keys  and  has  to  wake  me  up  to  let  him 
in,  so  I  always  tell  him  it  doesn't  dis- 
turb me  at  all,  and  that  I  always  go 
right  to  sleep  the  minute  I  get  back  in 
bed. 

But  that  night  Henry  didn't  seem  to 
know  what  he  was  doing.  He  closed  the 
bedroom  door  all  right,  and  then  I  heard 
him  drop  his  shoes.  Henry  always  takes 
off  his  shoes  in  the  hall  when  he  lets  him- 
self in,  but  I  didn't  see  the  use  of  his 
taking  them  off  after  waking  me  up  to 
let  him  in.  It  seemed  mighty  queer,  but 
38 


TWIN  BEDS 

I  didn't  say  anything  till  he  ran  into  a 
chair. 

The  room  was  dark,  of  course,  but  the 
chairs  were  in  their  usual  places,  and 
he'd  never  run  into  one  before.  So  I 
sat  up  in  bed,  just  to  let  him  see  I  was 
awake,  and  said:  "Is  that  you, 
Henry?"  And  then  I  nearly  died,  for 
though  his  answer  was  all  right,  his  voice 
sounded  thick  and  strange,  and  I  knew 
perfectly  well  he'd  had  too  much  to 
drink. 

It  had  happened  just  the  way  Ma  said 
it  would.  I  turned  cold  all  over,  and 
then  I  got  mad  clear  through. 


39 


CHAPTER  HI 

WHEN  I  was  a  kid  back  in  Center- 
ville  I  had  a  school-teacher 
named  Miss  Gibbs,  and  one  thing  she 
taught  me  I've  never  forgotten,  which 
was  not  to  speak  to  anybody  when  I  was 
mad  till  I'd  counted  ten,  and  counted  it 
slow.  For  though  I  was  easy-going  as 
a  rule,  when  I  did  get  r'iled  I  flared  up 
like  the  forge  in  Jonas  Miller's  black- 
smith shop;  and  I  do  to  this  day.  But 
that  night  I  was  so  mad  I  didn't  stop  at 
ten;  I  counted  twenty.  And  then  I 
counted  ten  more. 

By  that  time  I  'd  got  control  of  myself, 
and  was  beginning  to  hope  I  was  doing 
Henry  an  injustice.    ''Maybe  his  voice 
40 


TWIN  BEDS 

is  funny  like  that  because  he's  caught 
cold,"  I  thought.  "I'll  just  speak  to 
him  again  and  make  sure."  So  I  asked 
him  if  he'd  forgotten  his  keys. 

But  when  he  answered  me  I  knew  it 
wasn't  a  cold  but  too  much  drink  that 
ailed  him;  for  he  told  me  he  hadn't  for- 
gotten his  keys,  that  the  reason  he'd  rung 
the  bell  downstairs  was  that  the  keyhole 
acted  queer. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  it?"  I 
asked. 

"Don't  know,"  he  said.  "Keyhole 
wouldn  't  stand  still — kept  jumping  about 
like  a  rabbit.  Funny  thing!  Very 
funny!" 

1 1  It  isn  't  funny  at  all, ' '  I  said.  < '  It 's 
disgraceful ! ' ' 

"Quite  right,  m'dear,"  said  Henry. 
"Keyholes  shouldn't  jump  about  like 
that.  Disgraceful ! ' ' 

"It's  you  who  are  disgraceful,"  I  said. 
41 


TWIN  BEDS 

But  I  wasn't  mad  any  more;  I  was  just 
unhappy,  and  wanted  to  cry.  There  was 
no  good  crying,  though ;  all  I  could  do  was 
to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  hide  it  from 
Ma.  Besides,  I  knew  Henry  would  feel 
meaner  than  dog  pie  when  he  realized 
how  he'd  behaved,  and  I  didn't  believe 
he  'd  ever  come  home  like  that  again.  I  'd 
see  to  it  that  he  didn't. 

"You  go  to  bed,"  I  said.  "I'd  light 
the  light,  only  I  don't  want  to  lay  eyes  on 
you. ' ' 

"Don't  want  a  light,"  said  Henry. 
* '  Light  hurts  my  eyes.  See  better  in  the 
dark."  And  with  that  he  bumped  into 
the  table. 

I  could  just  make  him  out  in  the  dim 
light.  No,  I  should  say  I  didn  't  want  to 
see  him  the  way  I  would  with  the  gas 
lighted!  Just  for  a  minute  I  felt  as  if 
I  never  wanted  to  see  him  again  as  long 
as  I  lived.  I  suppose  there's  lots  of 
42 


TWIN  BEDS 

women  who  have  felt  like  that  about  their 
husbands,  but  I'd  never  felt  that  way 
about  Henry  before,  and  I'm  glad  to  say 
I've  never  felt  like  that  since;  though 
if  I  had  I  guess  I'd  have  got  over  it. 
That 's  one  thing  about  women ;  as  a  rule, 
they're  mighty  good  at  getting  over 
things — they  have  to  be. 

But  to  return  to  Henry.  When  he 
bumped  into  the  table  he  said  a  real 
wicked  word,  and  when  I  told  him  to  stop 
talking  like  that  and  go  to  bed,  he  said 
he  would,  only  what  he  did  was  to  come 
over  to  the  foot  of  my  bed,  instead.  And 
when  I  pointed  out  his  mistake,  he  didn  't 
seem  to  understand,  but  just  kept  stand- 
ing there. 

1 ' What  we  doing  with  two  beds?'*  he 
asked. 

"They're  the  new  twin  beds,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Twins?"  said  Henry.  "We  got 
43 


TWIN  BEDS 

twins?    Never  told  me  we  had  twins. 
Wha's  their  names?" 

' '  Twin  beds,  you  gump ! ' ' 

"Don't  get  mad,"  said  Henry. 
"  'Tain't  your  fault,  m'dear.  Every- 
thing's twins  to-night.  Twin  doors 
downstairs,  twin  lights  in  the  hall. 
Came  home  in  a  taxicab  driven  by  two 
men.  Funny !  Very  funny ! ' ' 

"It  isn't  funny,  it's  dreadful!  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed.  Go  to  bed!" 
And  finally  Henry  did  find  his  bed,  and 
sat  down  on  it ;  but  he  insisted  on  talking, 
and  wouldn't  go  to  sleep.  "Want  to 
tell  you  a  story,"  he  said.  "Very 
funny!  Rose  told  it  to  me  to-night." 

Rose?  My  heart  seemed  to  stop  beat- 
ing. 

"Where  did  you  go  to-night,  Henry?" 
I  asked  in  a  voice  that  scared  me,  it 
sounded  so  strange. 

"Been  to  lodge." 
44 


TWIN  BEDS 

"But,  Henry,  you  don't  belong  to  any 
lodge." 

* '  Tha  's  right,  m  'dear.  You  know  that 
Elk  button  I  wear  sometimes?" 

"What  are  you  talking  about!" 

"That  little  Elk  button.  I  ain't  an 
Elk,  I 'ma  Bull  Moose." 

"Who  is  Eose,  Henry?" 

"Friend  of  mine.  Little  Jack  Eose — 
used  to  be  jockey." 

"Oh!"  I  said. 

I'd  never  been  jealous  before  in  my 
whole  life,  and  I  never  want  to  be  again ; 
for  from  the  moment  Henry  said  he'd 
been  out  with  Eose  till  I  found  out  who 
Bose  was,  I  felt  exactly  like  some  one 
had  taken  my  soul  and  dropped  it  in 
boiling  hot  lard  like  they  would  a  dough- 
nut. It  was  like  getting  back  to  Heaven 
after  spending  a  few  days  in  the  other 
place  to  find  out  Eose  was  a  man.  And 
after  that  I  didn't  care  much  if  Henry 
45 


TWIN  BEDS 

had  taken  too  much  to  drink.  * '  He  won  't 
do  it  again,"  I  thought,  "and  even  if  he 
does,  there's  lots  worse  things."  So  I 
said  good-night  to  him  real  gentle,  and 
told  him  he'd  better  go  to  sleep. 

But  Henry  wasn't  through  talking. 
1 '  Ain  't  in  bed  yet,  "he  said.  ' '  Want  to 
tell  you  about  that  Elk  button.  Bought 
it  in  a  pawnshop.  Only  wear  it  Satur- 
day nights." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  I  said. 

"Nothing,"  said  Henry.  "Forgot. 
Shouldn't  talk  about  it.  Secret." 

"Well,  it  won't  be  a  secret  to-mor- 
row," I  replied.  "To-morrow  you're 
going  to  tell  me  everything.  You'll  be 
sorry  to-morrow,  Henry." 

"Tha's  right,  m'dear.  Always  sorry 
to-morrow.  Always  happy  to-night. 
Good-night!" 

"Good-night,"  I  said. 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  stayed  awake 
46 


TWIN  BEDS 

after  that;  maybe  ten  minutes,  maybe 
half  an  hour.  It  seemed  at  first  as  if 
I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  at  all,  having  so 
much  to  think  about  that  was  new  and  un- 
pleasant. But  after  a  while  it  came  over 
me  how  foolish  it  was  to  lie  awake  and 
brood  over  things.  Besides,  it  wasn't 
fair  to  Henry. 

"It's  not  for  you  to  harbor  resent- 
ment against  Henry,"  I  thought. 
"What  you've  got  to  do  is  to  lead  him 
back  to  the  path  of  righteousness,  and 
if  you  lie  awake  all  night  you'll  be  cross 
to-morrow,  and  then  instead  of  leading 
him,  you'll  try  to  drive  him,  which  will 
be  bad  for  you  both."  So  I  just  put 
everything  out  of  mind,  except  how  good 
Henry  had  always  been  to  me  in  the  past, 
and  with  that  came  faith  in  the  future — 
and  sleep. 

It's  funny  how  you  wake  up  sometimes 
all  of  a  sudden  with  the  feeling  that 
47 


TWIN  BEDS 

there's  a  burglar  in  the  house,  or  you've 
forgotten  to  wind  the  clock,  or  you've 
left  the  water  running  in  the  bathroom, 
only  to  find  on  investigating  that  you've 
probably  dreamed  it.  Henry  told  me 
afterward  that  he  hadn't  made  a  sound, 
but  just  the  same  the  first  thing  I  knew 
I  was  awake  again,  and  sitting  up  in  bed, 
listening.  And  there  was  some  one  in 
the  room,  too,  for  as  soon  as  my  eyes  got 
used  to  the  darkness  I  made  out  a  dim 
shadow  over  by  the  door. 

"Is  that  you,  Henry?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered. 

"What  are  you  doing  out  of  bed?"  I 
asked  him. 

' '  Did  I  wake  you  ?    I  'm  sorry. ' ' 

"Never  mind,"  I  said.  "Are  you  all 
right  now?" 

"As  right  as  rain,"  he  replied;  and  to 
tell  the  truth,  his  voice  did  sound  differ- 
ent. 

48 


TWIN  BEDS 

''That's  good,"  I  said.  "Now  get 
back  to  bed.  The  bed's  over  here." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Sorry  I  woke  you  up. 
Go  to  sleep,  dear." 

"I'm  glad  you  woke  me  up.  I  see 
you're  all  right  now." 

" Yes,  I'm  all  right.    Good-night. ' ' 

"Good-night." 

I  lay  back  in  bed  quite  contented. 
Henry  couldn't  have  had  very  much  to 
drink  or  else  he  wouldn't  have  recovered 
so  quick.  Maybe,  too,  there  'd  been  some- 
thing wrong  with  what  he  'd  had. 

"That  jockey  probably  put  something 
in  his  glass  to  make  him  like  that,*' 
I  thought.  "What  with  gambling  and 
horse-racing,  jockeys  are  apt  to  be  like 
that.  To-morrow  I'll  make  Henry 
promise  not  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  Jack  Eose." 

In  the  meantime,  Henry  didn't  seem 
to  have  any  trouble  finding  his  bed,  which 
49 


TWIN  BEDS 

was  also  encouraging.  He  didn't  say 
anything  about  there  being  two  beds, 
either,  or  run  into  the  table. 

" That's  fine!"  I  thought.  " Henry's 
himself  again ! ' ' 

Have  you  ever  bolstered  up  your  pride, 
and  said  everything's  all  right,  only  to 
find  out  the  next  minute  what  a  fool 
you've  been?  Well,  that's  exactly  what 
happened  to  me ;  for  just  as  I  was  con- 
gratulating myself  on  Henry's  rapid  re- 
covery, I  heard  him  kind  of  gasp. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  I  said,  sit- 
ting up. 

"Matter?"  cried  Henry.  "Matter? 
Jumping  Jehosephat !  Everything's  the 
matter!  There's  some  one  in  my  bed!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  I  said.  "And  I  thought 
you  were  all  right!" 

"I  tell  you  there's  some  one  in  my 
bed!" 

That  worried  me.  "Do  you  see  any- 
50 


TWIN  BEDS 

thing  else?"  I  asked — "pink  lizards,  or 
green  elephants,  or  purple  snakes!'* 

' '  What  are  you  talking  about  ? ' '  Henry 
asked. 

''Then  you  don't  see  them?" 

"I  don't  see  anything,"  said  Henry, 
"but  I'm  going  to  as  soon  as  I  can  find  a 
match. ' ' 

"Don't  you  begin  playing  with 
matches  now,"  I  said,  "or  you'll  set  the 
flat  on  fire.  You  go  to  bed  and  stop 
trapesing  around  in  the  dark." 

"But  I  tell  you  there's  some  one  in  my 
bed!" 

"I  know  there  is,"  I  said,  thinking  to 
humor  him.  "I  put  the  twins  in  your 
bed,  but  if  they  disturb  you  I'll  take  them 
in  with  me. ' ' 

1 1  Twins  ?  "  said  Henry.    ' « Twins  I ' ' 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "Now  do  be  sensible 
and  go  to  bed." 

But  Henry  didn't  go  to  bed.  Instead, 
51 


TWIN  BEDS 

lie  sort  of  groaned,  and  kept  on  hunting 
for  matches. 

"Are  you  going  back  to  bed  by  your- 
self, or  must  I  get  up  and  put  you  to 
bed?"  I  asked. 

"I'm  going,  dearest,"  he  answered. 
And  then  he  struck  a  match  and  lighted 
the  gas. 

The  light  sort  of  blinded  me  at  first ; 
then,  things  clearing  up,  I  saw  Henry 
standing  in  the  center  of  the  room,  look- 
ing at  me  real  anxious  and  troubled. 

"Why,  Henry,"  I  said,  "you're  all 
dressed!  I  thought — "  And  then,  my 
eyes  shifting  over  to  Henry's  bed,  I  let 
out  a  yell  like  a  wild  Indian.  For  there 
was  some  one  in  Henry's  bed!  A  man! 

"Look!"  I  cried,  pointing  to  the  bed. 

"I'm  looking,"  said  Henry.  "What 
does  this  mean?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  I  said.  And  then 
I  began  to  cry. 

52 


"1 — 1  don't  know,"  1  said,  and  then  1  began  to  cry 


CHAPTER  IV 

ONE  thing's  sure;  men — at  least 
some  men — are  more  reasonable 
than  any  woman  that  ever  lived.  Now 
I'm  a  reasonable  woman,  as  women  go. 
But  when  I  think  how  Henry  acted  that 
night,  and  how  I'd  have  acted,  if  I'd  come 
home  like  he  did  and  found —  Well,  it 
just  makes  me  sorry  women  are  like  that, 
though  I  suppose  they  wouldn't  be 
women  if  they  weren't. 

I  wouldn't  have  blamed  Henry  if  he'd 
gone  off  his  head  and  said  things  when 
he  found  that  man  in  his  bed.  No,  I 
wouldn't  have  blamed  him  a  bit — and  I 
wouldn't  have  forgiven  him. 

But  Henry  was  different ;  what  he  did 
was  to  come  over  and  put  his  arms 
53 


TWIN  BEDS 

around  me,  and  try  to  comfort  me. 
"Don't  you  cry,  dear,"  he  said.  "It's 
all  right." 

"It— isn't— all— right,"  I  sobbed. 
"You — you  don't  think  I  knew  he  was 
there?" 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said. 

At  that  I  cried  harder  than  ever. 
"Henry,"  I  said,  "you're — you're  the 
sweetest  man  in  the  world." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Henry.  "But  how 
did  he  get  here  1 ' ' 

"I— I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "The 
door-bell  rang,  and  I — I  thought  it  was 
you,  and — and  I  went  out  and  pressed 
the  button,  and  opened  the  hall  door. 
And  then — and  then  I  went  back  to  bed. 
And  then —  Oh,  you'll  never  forgive 
me !  But  when  you  came  in  it  was  dark, 
and  you  talked  queer,  and  I  thought — I 
thought  you'd  had  too  much  to  drink. 
Oh,  it's  too  terrible!" 
54 


TWIN  BEDS 

' '  You  poor  darling ! ' '  said  Henry,  very 
softly. 

All  this  while  the  man  in  Henry's  bed 
had  been  sleeping  peacefully,  thank 
goodness !  or  I  don't  know  what  I'd  have 
done.  Anyway,  I  felt  a  lot  better  after 
I'd  twisted  up  my  hair,  and  hid  in  the 
closet.  It  was  comforting,  too,  to  learn 
that  our  guest  hadn't  undressed  except 
for  his  coat  and  shoes,  for  naturally  I 
wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on.  And 
I  did,  peering  out  from  behind  the  closet 
door. 

What  went  on  first  was  that  Henry 
leaned  over  and  shook  the  stranger 
within  his  bed,  which  didn  't  do  any  good 
at  all. 

"You  wake  up!"  said  Henry,  giving 
him  another  shake. 

"Lemme  alone!"  murmured  the  stran- 
ger. 

Henry  gave  him  another  shake,  and 
55 


TWIN  BEDS 

this  time  he  sat  up.    "Wha's  matter ?" 
he  asked.    "  Is  it  morning  ? ' ' 

"No,"  said  Henry,  "it  isn't  morning. 
Who  are  you,  anyway?" 

1 '  Name 's  Deane.  What  are  you  doing 
in  my  flat?" 

"This  isn't  your  flat;  it's  mine," 
Henry  said  sharply. 

"  'Tisn't,  either;  s'mine." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"124  East  123rd  Street." 

"No,  you  don't.  I  know  everybody 
who  lives  in  this  house." 

"All  right,"  said  the  stranger,  and 
with  that  he  lay  down  again. 

"Here,  you  sit  up!"  said  Henry,  giv- 
ing him  another  shake.  "Where  do  you 
live!" 

"123  East  124th  Street." 

"That's  more  like  it.  Did  you  hear 
that,  Blanche?  He  lives  at  123  East 
124th  Street." 

56 


TWIN  BEDS 

"124  East  123rd  Street,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"No,"  said  Henry,  "123  East  124th 
Street." 

"Tha's  what  I  said,"  declared  the 
stranger. 

i '  How  long  have  you  lived  at  123  East 
124th  Street?" 

' '  Moved  in  yesterday.  Fine  flat !  No 
gas — 'lectric  lights.  Fifty  dollars  a 
month!  Wha's  matter?" 

"Nothing,  only  you've  got  in  the 
wrong  flat. ' ' 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  stranger. 
"Sleepy  now.  Good-night." 

"Here,  none  of  that!"  said  Henry. 
"You're  not  going  to  sleep  now.  Have 
you  got  a  wife!" 

"Yes,  got  a  wife.  Just  had  twins. 
She  told  me  about  it  to-night.  Great 
surprise!  Ought  to  go  home  and  see 


57 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I  think  I  know  what  he's  talking 
about,  Henry,"  I  whispered.  "He's 
talking  about — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  the  stranger, 
"tha's  my  name.  Henry — Henry 
Deane.  Wife's  got  twins.  Never  knew 
about  it. ' '  And  with  that  the  poor  man 
began  to  cry. 

1 1  Here,  you  stop  crying ! ' '  said  Henry. 

"Can't,"  said  Mr.  Deane.  "Wife's 
got  twins,  little  boy  and  little  girl. 
Ought  to  go  home." 

"What's  all  this  about  twins,  any- 
way?" asked  Henry,  coming  over  to  the 
clothes-closet  where  I  was  hiding. 

"It's  like  this,"  I  said.  "When  he 
came  in  the  dark,  I  said  'Is  that'  you, 
Henry?'  and  he  said  'Yes,'  and  then  he 
came  over  to  the  foot  of  my  bed,  and  I 
said, '  Your  bed 's  over  there. '  And  then 
he  asked  me  what  was  the  matter  with 
the  beds,  and  I  told  him  they  were  the 
58 


TWIN  BEDS 

new  twin  beds,  so  that's  where  he  must 
have  got  the  idea. ' ' 

"I  see,"  said  Henry.  "Drat  it  all, 
he's  gone  to  sleep  again!" 

"If  that's  the  case,"  I  said,  "I'm  com- 
ing out  of  the  closet."  And  I  did. 

"But  what  shall  we  do  with  him?" 
asked  Henry. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "We 
can't  turn  him  loose  the  way  he  is,  and 
we  certainly  can't  take  him  home  like 
that." 

"Your  Ma  has  the  only  other  bed  in 
the  flat, ' '  said  Henry.  ' '  Tell  you  what ; 
we  might  make  up  a  bed  for  him  on  the 
lounge  in  the  dining-room." 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  perfect 
stranger  sleeping  in  the  dining-room, ' '  I 
said.  "We  don't  know  a  thing  about 
him," 

"Then  perhaps  we'd  better  let  him 
stay  where  he  is." 

59 


TWIN  BEDS 

"But  what  will  I  do?"  I  asked. 

"You  might  go  and  tuck  in  with  your 
ma." 

"Not  me,"  I  said.  "If  I  was  to  tuck 
in  with  Ma,  she'd  think  we'd  quarreled, 
sure. ' ' 

"Then  I  don't  see  anything  but  to  put 
him  to  bed  in  the  dining-room. ' ' 

"No,"  I  said,  "if  he  sleeps  in  the 
'dining-room,  Ma  will  be  sure  to  get  up 
early  and  find  him  there,  and  then  there 
would  be  all  sorts  of  explanations.  I 
guess  I'd  better  sleep  in  the  dining-room 
myself." 

"Yes,  I  guess  you  had,"  agreed  Henry. 

"I  don't  like  his  sleeping  in  here  with 
you,  though.  He  might  get  up  in  the 
night  and  murder  you." 

"Nonsense!"    said     Henry.     "He's 

dead  to  the  world.    The  thing  to  do  is  to 

get  him  out  of  the  flat  good  and  early 

before  Ma's  awake.    Then  you  can  come 

60 


TWIN  BEDS 

in  here,  and  there  won 't  be  any  explana- 
tions to  make." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  believe  that  is  the 
best  plan.  I  wonder  if  he  really  does 
live  at  123  East  124th  Street.  You  might 
look  in  his  coat-pockets,  and  see  if  he's 
got  a  card." 

Henry  thought  that  was  a  good  idea, 
so  he  looked  through  Mr.  Deane 's  coat- 
pockets  and  discovered  a  green  leather 
wallet  containing  some  banknotes,  and 
papers,  and  some  business  cards,  which 
informed  us  that  Mr.  Deane  represented 
the  Gibraltar  Life  Insurance  Company. 
And  looking  further,  he  found  another 
card  with  "123  East  124th  Street" 
scribbled  on  it. 

"He's  wearing  an  Elk  button  on  his 
coat,  too,"  said  Henry,  "so  he  must  be 
all  right." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  not  thinking  it  neces- 
sary to  repeat  what  Mr.  Deane  had  told 
61 


TWIN  BEDS 

me  about  that  Elk  button,  "I  guess  he's 
a  respectable  citizen  except  on  Saturday 
nights. " 

With  that  Henry  returned  the  wallet 
to  the  inside  pocket  of  Mr.  Deane's  coat, 
and  flung  the  coat  across  a  chair  by  the 
bed,  which  was  a  natural  thing  for  him 
to  do;  though  if  I'd  known  what  trouble 
that  simple  action  was  going  to  cause, 
I'd  never  have  let  him  do  it.  But  how 
was  I  to  know? 

"Well,"  said  Henry,  "it's  all  hours  of 
the  night,  and  I  guess  we'd  better  make 
up  that  bed  in  the  dining-room.  If  we 
don't,  we'll  never  go  to  sleep." 

"No,"  I  said,  "we  can't  go  to  sleep 
yet." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  we  can't,"  I  said.  "Do 
you  know  who  I'm  thinking  of,  Hen- 
ry!" 

"No,"  said  Henry,  kind  of  cross,  "I 
62 


TWIN  BEDS 

don't.  If  you're  not  going  to  bed,  what 
are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I've  been  thinking  about  that  man's 
poor  wife,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  bed 
where  Mr.  Deane  was  sleeping  peaceful 
as  a  lamb.  "I  suppose  she's  sitting  up, 
wondering  what's  become  of  him." 

"  Better  to  let  her  sit  up  and  wonder 
than  to  see  him  the  way  he  is,"  said 
Henry.  "If  you  think  I'm  going  to 
take  him  home  like  that,  you're  mis- 
taken. ' ' 

"I  don't  want  you  to  take  him  home," 
I  said.  "But  I  can't  bear  to  think  of 
his  poor  wife  waiting  up  for  him,  and 
watching  the  clock,  and  wondering  if  he 
hasn't  been  run  over  by  a  taxicab,  or 
murdered,  or  been  took  sick  and  gone 
to  a  hospital." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?"  asked  Henry. 

"It's  you  who's  going  to  do  it,"  I 
63 


TWIN  BEDS 

answered.    "What   you've   got   to    do, 
Henry,  is  to  send  her  a  telegram/' 

Henry  agreed  that  it  would  be  a  kind- 
ness to  send  a  telegram,  but  wanted  to 
know  how  in  blazes  he  was  going  to  do 
it.  "I  can't  leave  you  here  alone  with 
that  man,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  I  said.  "That  man 
wouldn't  harm  a  kitten.  Besides,  it 
won't  take  you  more  than  five  or  six 
minutes  to  run  over  to  125th  Street  and 
send  a  telegram.  What  puzzles  me  is 
what  to  put  in  the  message." 

"But  I  won't  leave  you  alone!" 

"Yes,  you  will,  too,"  I  said.  "We've 
just  got  to  send  that  poor  woman  a  tele- 
gram. ' ' 

'  *  But  what  would  you  do  if  he  woke  up 
while  I  was  gone  and  got  gay  ? ' ' 

"I'd  jab  him  with  this,"  I  said,  going 
out  into  the  hall  and  returning  with  my 
umbrella. 

64 


"A  hatpin  would  be  better,"  said 
Henry. 

"All  right,  I'll  get  a  hatpin,  too. 
Honestly,  Henry,  we've  just  got  to  send 
that  poor  woman  a  telegram.  I  know 
how  I'd  feel  if  you  didn't  come  home ;  I'd 
think  something  awful  had  happened  to 
you,  and  I'd  cry  my  eyes  out,  and  would- 
n't sleep  a  wink." 

"Bless  your  heart,"  said  Henry,  "I 
believe  you  would. ' ' 

"And  that's  why  we  have  to  send  a 
telegram  to  Mrs.  Henry  Deane.  Good- 
ness! Supposing  his  name  hadn't  been 
Henry,  and  when  I  said,  'Is  that  you, 
Henry?'  he'd  answered,  'No,  it's  Bob.'  " 

"On  the  whole,"  said  Henry,  "if  it 
had  to  be — and  I  guess  it  did  or  it  would- 
n't have  happened — it's  lucky  it  turned 
out  the  way  it  did.  Are  you  sure  it 
won't  scare  you  to  be  left  alone  with 
him?" 

65 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Scare  me?  Of  course  it  will  scare 
me!" 

"  You  might  lock  him  in  here,  and  wait 
for  me  out  in  the  hall. ' ' 

"Not  much!"  I  said.  "He  might  set 
the  flat  on  fire  if  he  was  locked  in  here  all 
alone  by  himself.  I  can  manage;  don't 
you  worry.  Besides,  I  don 't  believe  he  '11 
wake  for  twenty-four  hours  unless  you 
stick  pins  in  him.  He's  dead  to  the 
world." 

"All  right,  dear,"  said  Henry,  "I'll 
do  as  you  say.  Only,  what  shall  we  put 
in  the  telegram ! ' ' 

"Let's  get  a  pencil  and  paper  and  kind 
of  figure  it  out, ' '  I  said. 

After  writing  all  sorts  of  messages, 
we  decided  on  this  as  being  the  safest : 

Mrs.  Henry  Deane, 

123  E.  124th  St..  N.  Y.  City. 

Stopping  all  night  with  friends.  Be  home 
to-morrow  morning.  Love.  HENRY. 

66 


TWIN  BEDS 

My  Henry  thought  it  a  first-rate  tele- 
gram, and  so  did  I.  For  see  the  artful- 
ness of  it ;  only  a  sober  man  would  stop 
to  count  his  words,  and  a  ten-word  mes- 
sage would  convince  his  wife  that  her 
Henry  was  safe  and  sober,  even  if  he 
wasn't  truthful.  She  probably  would 
doubt  his  word,  but  that  was  his  affair. 
Neither  Henry  nor  I  could  see  how  we 
could  very  well  do  more  than  we  were 
doing. 

So  Henry  put  on  his  hat,  lighted  the 
gas  in  the  hall,  and  I  went  with  him  to 
the  door.  And  then  I  came  back  to  the 
bedroom,  and  with  a  hatpin  in  one  hand 
and  my  umbrella  clutched  tight  in  the 
other,  sat  down  in  a  rocking  chair  to  wait. 

I  never  was  a  good  hand  at  waiting, 
and  the  longer  I  waited  the  more  fidgety 
I  got.  I  began  to  wonder  if  I  'd  have  the 
courage  to  jab  our  guest  with  my  um- 
brella if  he  woke  up  and  acted  queer,  and 
67 


TWIN  BEDS 

to  wish  I  hadn't  been  so  rash  sending 
Henry  off  with  that  telegram.  It  was 
all  right  to  be  sorry  for  poor  Mrs.  Deane 
crying  her  eyes  out,  but  here  I  was  left 
alone  with  a  perfect  stranger  who  might 
wake  up  any  minute  and  try  to  brain 
me. 

Finally  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer. 
Thinks  I:  "I've  got  to  do  something, 
or  I'll  just  naturally  bust.  I  guess  I'll 
get  out  the  bedclothes,  and  make  up  the 
lounge  in  the  dining-room."  So  I  went 
into  the  closet  and  took  down  two  sheets 
and  a  blanket  from  a  shelf,  at  the  same 
time  being  mighty  careful  to  keep  my 
umbrella;  I  had  the  hatpin  handy,  too — 
stuck  through  my  hair. 

Coming  out  the  closet  with  my  arms 
full  of  bedclothes  and  the  umbrella  dan- 
gling from  my  wrist,  I  went  over  to  my 
bed  to  get  one  of  my  pillows.  And  then 
— Well,  I'll  never  forget  what  happened 
68 


TWIN  BEDS 

next  as  long  as  I  live !  For  just  as  I  was 
leaning  over  to  get  that  pillow,  who 
should  come  marching  into  the  room  but 
Ma! 


69 


CHAPTER  V 

OF  course,  if  I'd  stopped  to  think,  I 
never  would  have  acted  as  I  did. 
But  I  didn't  expect  Ma,  and  her  coming 
in  like  that,  and  Henry  gone,  and  a 
strange  man  in  his  bed  knocked  what 
little  sense  I  had  out  of  my  head. 

The  worst  of  it  was,  Ma  didn  't  say  any- 
thing at  first;  just  stood  and  stared  at 
me.  And  I  stared  back,  my  legs  weak  at 
the  knees,  and  my  heart  beating  like  a 
drum.  It  was  awful! 

Finally  Ma  found  her  tongue.  " What 
are  you  doing  with  that  umbrella?"  she 
asked. 

"I— I  don't  know,"  I  faltered.  "I— I 
thought  it  looked  like  rain. ' ' 

"What's  that?" 

70 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I  was  putting  it  away,  Ma,"  I  said. 
"What  are  you  doing  trapesing  around 
in  your  nightgown  this  time  of  night  ?" 

"I  woke  up  and  saw  a  streak  of  light 
under  my  door,  so  I  thought  I'd  investi- 
gate ;  and  I  'm  glad  I  did.  Blanche,  this 
is  disgraceful." 

* '  I  know  it  is,  Ma, ' '  I  said, ' '  but  I  can 't 
help  it."  And  then  I  began  to  cry. 

11  There,  there!"  said  Ma.  "You're 
all  unstrung,  ain't  you?  Don't  you  cry, 
girlie!  You  just  come  and  tuck  into 
my  bed  with  me.  Henry  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself!" 

"You  mustn't  blame  Henry,"  I  said, 
"it  isn't  his  fault.  Besides,  we've 
known  Mr.  Deane  for  years,  and  he's 
just  like  a  brother  to  me." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Blanche? 
Who's  Mr.  Deane?" 

"He— he's  a  friend  of  Henry's,"  I 
fanered. 

71 


TWIN  BEDS 

"He's  a  poor  friend  of  Henry's,  then,'* 
said  Ma,  "or  this  wouldn't  have  hap- 
pened." 

"You — you  don't  understand,"  I 
sobbed. 

"  I  do,  too, ' '  said  Ma.  ' '  Henry 's  come 
home — " 

"Henry?"  I  gasped. 

"Yes,  Henry,"  said  Ma.  "Who  do 
you  suppose  I'm  talking  about?" 

I  looked  at  Ma  to  see  if  she  was  really 
serious,  and  then  glanced  at  Henry's  bed. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  only  the  top  of  the 
stranger 's  head  was  showing,  and  it  was 
kind  of  bald  like  Henry's.  "Thank 
goodness!"  I  thought.  "I  won't  have 
to  explain  after  all." 

For  you  see,  it  isn't  so  easy  to  explain 
things  to  Ma,  her  being  deaf;  besides,  a 
strange  man  in  your  husband's  bed  needs 
an  awful  lot  of  explaining.  So,  acting 
on  impulse,  I  decided  to  let  Ma  think  the 
72 


TWIN  BEDS 

stranger  was  Henry  if  she  wanted  to,  and 
I  said:  "You  go  to  bed,  Ma.  If  we 
stand  here  talking  we  '11  wake  Henry,  and 
he's  tired  out." 

"Oh!"  said  Ma.  "He's  tired  out,  is 
he?" 

"Yes,  Henry's  dead  tired,"  I  replied. 
"If  he  wasn't,  we'd  have  woke  him  up 
long  ago. ' ' 

"But  I  can't  go  to  bed  and  leave  you 
like  this,"  said  Ma.  "What  you  doing 
with  those  bedclothes?" 

Though  I  hadn't  realized  it,  all  this 
time  I'd  been  hanging  on  to  the  two 
sheets  and  blanket  I'd  got  out  to  make 
up  the  lounge  in  the  dining-room.  Not 
knowing  what  else  to  say  (Ain't  it  awful 
how  one  lie  leads  to  another]),  I  told  Ma 
I'd  got  out  the  extra  covers  because  I  was 
having  a  chill.  "But  I'm  feeling  better 
now,"  I  said,  "a  lot  better."  (Which 
wasn't  true,  either,  for  now  I  was  in  a 
73 


TWIN  BEDS 

panic  for  fear  the  stranger  would  turn 
over  in  his  sleep  and  show  his  face.) 
"Do  go  to  bed,  Ma." 

"Do  you  know  what  I  believe?"  said 
Ma,  "I  believe  you're  afraid  of  Henry, 
and  you've  got  that  umbrella,  and  that 
hatpin  stuck  in  your  hair  to  protect  your- 
self with. '  * 

"Afraid  of  Henry!"  I  cried.  "Ma, 
you're  crazy!  Why  should  I  be  afraid 
of  Henry?" 

"You  can't  fool  me,  Blanche;  I  know 
what  ails  Henry." 

"He's  tired  out." 

"Tired  but,  your  grandmother's  cat! 
Haven 't  I  got  eyes  and  a  nose  ?  Henry 's 
the  worse  for  drink,  that's  what  ails 
him!" 

And  now,  too  late,  I  saw  what  I  had 
done.  By  letting  Ma  think  the  stranger 
was  Henry,  I'd  convicted  Henry,  in  Ma's 
74 


TWIN  BEDS 

eyes,  at  least,  of  having  come  home  the 
worse  for  drink.  It  was  too  dreadful! 
And  yet  it  seemed  almost  as  bad  to  tell 
Ma  I'd  been  lying  to  her,  as  to  let  her 
think  ill  of  Henry.  So  I  said:  "Ma, 
you're  wrong  about  Henry,  and  to-mor- 
row you'll  be  sorry  for  having  thought  ill 
of  him." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Ma.  "If 
Henry's  all  right  like  you  say  he  is,  just 
wake  him  up  and  let  him  prove  it. ' ' 

"I  won't,  either." 

"Then  I  will,"  said  Ma,  starting  to- 
wards the  bed. 

' '  No,  you  won 't, "  I  said.  ' '  You  leave 
Henry  alone ! ' r  And  then  I  had  an  aw- 
ful thought:  supposing  Henry  was  to 
come  walking  in,  as  he  might  any  minute. 
What  would  Ma  think  then? 

"Ma,"  I  said,  going  over  to  her  and 
taking  her  by  the  arm,  "I  forgot  to  bolt 
75 


TWIN  BEDS 

the  front  door.  If  I  go  and  bolt  it  will 
you  promise  to  leave  Henry  alone  till  I 
get  back!" 

"No,"  said  Ma,  "I  won  V 

"Then  you've  got  to  go  with  me,"  I 
said,  tucking  her  arm  in  mine. 

"Are  you  crazy,  Blanche?" 

' '  Mighty  near  it. ' ' 

"What's  that?" 

"I  said  I  wasn't  crazy,  Ma,  but  I'm 
afraid  to  go  out  in  the  hall  alone,  and 
you've  got  to  come  with  me." 

"You  didn't  used  to  be  like  that,"  said 
Ma.  "I  remember  when  you  wasn't 
scared  of  anything.  Henry  must  have 
terrorized  you  a  heap  to  make  you  like 
that." 

"I  was  always  like  that,"  I  said; 
"Henry  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Come  along."  And  with  that  I  half- 
dragged  Ma  to  the  front  door,  which  I 
bolted. 

76 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Now,  Ma,"  I  said,  "you  go  back  to 
bed." 

"Not  likely,"  said  Ma,  "with  you  hav- 
ing a  chill. ' ' 

Of  course  I  told  Ma  I  was  through  hav- 
ing chills,  and  that  the  best  place  for  me 
was  in  bed.  Ma  agreed  with  me  there, 
only  she  insisted  on  my  tucking  in  with 
her.  And  when  I  said  I  wouldn't,  she 
declared  it  was  either  that,  or  else  she'd 
tuck  in  with  me. 

' '  But  you  can 't,  Ma, ' '  I  said.  *  *  I  only 
got  a  single  bed.  Besides,  it  wouldn't  be 
proper. ' ' 

"I  don't  care  whether  it's  proper  or 
not,"  said  Ma.  "If  you  think  I'm  going 
to  leave  a  child  of  mine  alone  with  a  man 
who's  had  too  much  drink,  you're  mis- 
taken." 

You  can  imagine  what  a  state  I  was 
in  with  Ma  acting  like  that,  and  me  ex- 
pecting Henry  back  any  minute.  I  just 
77 


TWIN  BEDS 

didn't  know  what  to  do.  If  I  did  tuck  in 
with  Ma,  Henry,  finding  the  front  door 
bolted  when  he  came  back,  would  prob- 
ably think  Mr.  Deane  had  murdered  me ; 
if  I  didn't  tuck  in  with  Ma,  there  was  no 
telling  what  mightn't  happen.  On  the 
whole,  I  decided  it  was  better  to  risk 
scaring  Henry  than  to  take  any  more 
chances  with  Ma, 

Yet  I  hated  to  scare  Henry.  Why 
couldn't  I  write  him  a  note,  explaining 
how  things  were,  and  slip  it  under  the 
front  door? 

It  wouldn't  be  very  cheerful  for 
Henry,  waiting  out  there,  but  it  would  be 
better  than  thinking  I'd  been  murdered. 
Besides,  if  Ma  went  right  to  sleep,  which 
I  hoped  she  would,  I'd  be  able  to  steal  out 
and  let  him  in  almost  as  soon  as  he 
arrived.  Anyway,  that 's  what  I  decided 
to  do,  and  finally,  after  promising  to  join 
her  in  five  minutes,  I  got  Ma  to  go  back 
78 


TWIN  BEDS 

to  bed.  Then  I  dashed  into  my  room 
and  scribbled  a  note  to  Henry. 

After  I'd  done  that,  and  satisfied  my- 
self Mr.  Deane  was  still  asleep,  I  turned 
out  the  gas,  and  went  out  into  the  hall 
where  I  got  down  on  my  knees  and 
pushed  the  note  I'd  written  under  the 
front  door  with  a  hairpin,  there  being 
plenty  of  space,  the  building  being  old 
and  kind  of  out  of  plumb,  so  to  speak. 

I  guess  I  took  longer  than  five  minutes 
to  do  it,  though,  for  Ma  came  out  of  her 
room  and  discovered  me  just  as  I  got  the 
note  under  the  door.  And  seeing  me  on 
my  knees,  she  naturally  thought  I  was 
praying,  and  that  I'd  chosen  a  funny 
place  to  do  it.  t '  If  you  want  to  pray  for 
Henry,"  she  said — "and  I  guess  he  needs 
it  if  anyone  does — come  into  my  room, 
and  I'll  pray  with  you. " 

I  laughed  at  that,  I  couldn't  help  it. 

" That's  right,"  said  Ma.  "You're 
79 


TWIN  BEDS 

laughing  now,  and  praying  did  it.  Shall 
I  turn  out  the  gas,  Blanche?" 
"No,"  I  said,  "leave  it  burn." 
But  Ma  thought  that  was  wasteful  ex- 
travagance. So  she  compromised  by 
turning  it  low,  after  which  I  followed  her 
into  her  room ;  and  before  long  we  were 
both  in  bed,  the  door  into  the  hall  closed, 
the  room  dark,  and  me  praying  a  real 
prayer,  which  was  that  Ma  would  go  to 
sleep  soon  so  that  I  could  slip  out  and 
let  poor  Henry  in.  For  the  more  I 
thought  about  his  staying  out  there  on 
the  landing,  the  less  I  liked  it. 

Supposing  the  people  in  the  flat  above 
us  were  to  come  home  and  find  him  sitting 
out  there?  They'd  think  it  mighty 

* 

queer.  It  wasn't  likely  they'd  be  out  so 
late  at  night,  but  I  couldn't  help  worry- 
ing. I'm  not  the  worrying  kind,  but  by 
this  time  I'd  got  into  a  sort  of  nervous 
state,  and  no  wonder. 
80 


TWIN  BEDS 

You  see,  I  took  it  for  granted  that 
Henry  had  already  read  my  note,  and 
was  out  there  waiting  for  me  to  let  him 
in.  So  you  can  imagine  how  I  jumped, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  noise  out 
in  the  hall.  It  sounded  like  some  one 
hammering  on  the  front  door,  though  I 
couldn  't  be  sure. 

'  *  Goodness ! "  I  thought.  ' '  I  hope  Mr. 
Deane  hasn't  woke  up  and  started  on  the 
rampage!"  For  it  seemed  impossible 
that  Henry  could  have  failed  to  see  the 
note  I'd  slipped  under  the  door,  and  if  it 
wasn't  Henry,  it  must  be  Mr.  Deane. 
Anyway,  I'd  better  investigate.  But 
when  I  started  to  slip  out  of  bed  real 
quiet,  Ma,  who  wasn't  asleep  yet,  reached 
over  and  grabbed  me  by  the  arm. 

"You  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep,"  she 
said. 

"I  will  in  a  minute,  Ma.    I  just  want 
to  see  if  Henry's  all  right." 
81 


TWIN  BEDS 

"If  you  keep  jumping  in  and  out  of 
bed  like  a  grasshopper,  we'll  neither  of 
us  get  any  sleep,"  said  Ma.  "You're  to 
come  back,  mind ! ' ' 

"Yes,  Ma,"  I  said,  "I'll  be  right 
back."  And  with  that  I  got  out  of  bed 
and  kind  of  felt  my  way  over  to  the  door. 

By  this  time  the  hammering  sound  had 
stopped.  But  I  thought  I'd  better  in- 
vestigate just  the  same,  so  I  went  over 
to  our  bedroom  door  and  looked  in. 
Though  I  couldn't  see  him,  I  knew  Mr. 
Deane  was  asleep  because  he  was  snor- 
ing; not  loud,  but  regular — like  the  tick- 
ing of  a  clock. 

"That  settles  him,"  I  thought  "It 
must  have  been  some  one  else  who  made 
that  noise.  Anyway,  now  that  I  'm  up,  I 
can  let  Henry  in.  That  is,  I  can  if  Ma 
stays  in  bed. ' ' 

I  felt  in  my  bones  that  if  I  did  open  the 
front  door  and  let  Henry  in,  Ma  would 
82 


TWIN  BEDS 

choose  that  identical  moment  to  pop  out 
of  her  room  and  spoil  everything.  Just 
the  same,  I  was  going  to  chance  it,  for  I 
couldn't  bear  to  think  of  poor  Henry 
waiting  outside  there.  So  after  looking 
over  my  shoulder  and  straining  my  ears 
for  any  sound  from  Ma's  room,  I  slipped 
the  bolt  and  opened  the  front  door.  And 
then  I  was  completely  flabbergasted. 
Henry  wasn't  there!  When  I  came  to 
look  for  it,  I  found  the  note  I'd  written 
him  wasn't  there,  either. 

1 '  That  explains  it, "  I  thought.  ' '  After 
reading  my  note,  Henry  waited  till  he 
got  tired,  and  now  he 's  probably  killing 
time  by  walking  around  the  block. ' ' 

It  seemed  probable,  too,  that  the  ham- 
mering  I'd  heard  had  been  a  boy  with  a 
telegram  who'd  come  up  one  flight  too 
many.  For  there  was  a  bright  light  in 
the  hall  below,  and  by  looking  over  the 
banisters  I  could  see  that  the  front  door 
83 


TWIN  BEDS 

of  the  flat  underneath  ours  was  open.  So 
I  closed  our  front  door — not  slipping  the 
bolt  this  time — and  went  back  to  Ma's 
room. 

I  wanted  to  write  Henry  another  note 
to  tell  him  the  door  wasn't  bolted  now, 
and  he  could  steal  in  and  go  to  bed  if  he 
wanted  to ;  but  to  do  that  I  'd  have  to  light 
a  light  in  our  room,  which  I  didn't  like 
to  do  with  Mr.  Deane  asleep  in  there. 
Besides,  I  felt  sure  Ma  was  already  be- 
ginning to  wonder  why  I  was  gone  so 
long. 

I  was  right  about  Ma.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  getting  out  of  bed  to  come  after 
me,  and  she  scolded  me  good  for  skir- 
mishing around  in  my  bare  feet,  and  me 
just  over  a  chill. 

"You'll  be  sick  to-morrow,  as  sure  as 

guns, ' *  she  said.    '  *  I  never  passed  such  a 

night  in  my  life,  what  with  Henry  coming 

home  the  worse  for  drink,  and  you  telling 

84 


TWIN  BEDS 

stories  about  him,  having  chills,  and 
tempting  Providence  the  worst  way, 
kneeling  to  pray  like  you  did  by  a  door 
with  a  crack  under  it,  and  you  with  next 
to  nothing  on  and  in  a  draught  all  the 
time  you  was  there.  Haven't  you  got 
any  sense,  Blanche?" 

With  that,  Ma  flopped  over  on  her  side 
and  tried  to  go  to  sleep.  If  she'd  only 
succeeded !  But  she  didn  't ;  and  her  not 
going  to  sleep  caused  me  so  much  worry, 
later,  that  when  I  looked  in  the  glass  next 
morning,  I  almost  expected  to  find  my 
hair  had  turned  white  like  the  Count  of 
Monte  Cristo's  did — or  was  it  Henry 
Ward  Beecher? 


85 


CHAPTER  VI 

AS  I  lay  there  waiting  for  Ma  to  go 
to  sleep,  I  wondered  and  wondered 
what  I  could  do  to  clear  Henry's  reputa- 
tion. I  couldn't  bear  to  have  Ma  think- 
ing ill  of  him,  and  misjudging  him  the 
way  she  was;  yet  I  couldn't  see  how  to 
convince  her  she  was  wrong.  Of  course 
Henry  had  a  perfect  alibi,  but  in  order  to 
establish  it,  I'd  have  to  explain  that  it 
was  Mr.  Deane  and  not  Henry  who  had 
had  too  much  to  drink,  and  that  was 
something  I  couldn't  very  well  explain 
now.  It  would  sound  fine  to-morrow 
morning,  wouldn't  it?  for  me  to  Bay: 
"Ma,  that  man  you  saw  in  Henry's  bed 
last  night  wasn't  Henry  at  all,  but  a  per- 
fect stranger." 

86 


TWIN  BEDS 

I  could  tell  her  this,  though:  that 
Henry  had  come  home  with  a  raging 
toothache,  and  before  he  went  to  sleep 
had  been  holding  whisky  in  his  mouth  to 
ease  the  pain.  Yes,  I'd  tell  Ma  that,  and 
maybe  Henry  would  think  of  something 
else  to  tell  her ;  for  I  wasn't  going  to  have 
Ma  return  to  Centerville  with  the  idea 
that  Henry  came  home  the  worse  for 
drink  every  Saturday  night,  and  him  the 
best  man  in  the  world,  and  the  kindest. 

Wasn't  it  Henry's  kindness  that  was 
responsible  for  the  whole  business?  If 
he  'd  turned  Mr.  Deane  out  into  the  street 
the  way  most  men  would  instead  of  run- 
ning off  to  send  a  telegram  to  his  poor 
wife,  there  wouldn't  have  been  anything 
to  explain.  And  there  was  Mr.  Deane 
asleep  and  happy,  and  Henry  locked  out 
of  his  own  flat,  or  just  as  good  as  locked 
out.  "When  all  is  said  and  done,  it's  no 
great  shakes  to  pick  up  a  wounded  man 
87 


TWIN  BEDS 

by  the  roadside  and  give  him  a  lift.  I'll 
bet  if  the  Good  Samaritan  in  the  Bible 
had  come  home  and  found  a  strange  man 
in  his  wife's  twin  bed,  he  wouldn't  have 
acted  as  generous  as  Henry  did. 

And  where  was  Henry  now?  Was  he 
waiting  outside  the  front  door  again,  or 
was  he  still  walking  around  the  block? 
And  would  he  have  sense  enough  to  try 
the  door  with  his  key,  or  would  he  wait 
for  me  to  open  the  door  like  I  told  him  I 
would  in  the  note  I  wrote  him! 

"Are  you  asleep,  Ma?"  I  asked. 

Ma  didn't  answer,  and  I  began 
wondering  why  she  didn't  answer.  Was 
she  asleep,  or  hadn't  she  heard  me? 

I'd  spoken  loud  enough,  so  she  should 
have  heard  me,  only  she  was  lying  on  her 
left  side,  and  it's  her  left  ear  that  she 
hears  best  with.  So  I  didn't  know 
whether  she  was  asleep  or  not. 

By  this  time  I  was  in  such  a  nervous 
88 


TWIN  BEDS 

state  that  I  was  ready  to  scream,  and 
I  was  on  the  point  of  getting  out  of  bed 
again,  whether  Ma  was  asleep  or  not, 
when  I  heard  something  that  made  my 
blood  run  cold.  It  was  a  queer,  splinter- 
ing sort  of  noise  and  sounded  for  all  the 
world  like  some  one  was  trying  to  break 
down  the  front  door. 

I  was  out  of  bed  like  a  shot,  making 
for  the  door  as  fast  as  I  could  in  the 
dark ;  and  though  Ma  proved  she  wasn  't 
asleep  by  ordering  me  to  come  back  to 
bed,  you  can  better  believe  I  didn't  go 
back.  Instead,  I  opened  the  bedroom 
door  and  peered  out  into  the  hall. 

Cr — rash ! 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  some  one 
was  trying  to  break  down  the  front  door ! 

Glancing  over  my  shoulder  I  saw  that 
Ma  was  getting  out  of  bed.  Well,  I 
wasn't  going  to  have  her  face  any  dan- 
ger, so  I  slipped  the  key  from  the  lock, 
89 


TWIN  BEDS 

and,  stepping  out  into  the  hall,  shut  the 
door  and  locked  it.  Ma  was  safe,  any- 
way. 

Cr — rash ! 

Maybe  Mr.  Deane  was  a  criminal,  and 
the  police,  having  tracked  him  to  our 
flat,  were  breaking  down  our  front  door 
to  get  at  him.  Grabbing  my  umbrella 
from  the  hat-rack  where  Pd  hung  it,  I 
tiptoed  towards  the  front  door. 

Cr — rash!  And  Ma  pounding  on  her 
door  and  yelling:  " Blanche,  let  me 
out!"  and  me  scared  within  an  inch  of 
my  life !  Just  the  same,  something  had 
got  to  be  done,  so  I  called  out  in  a  shaky 
voice:  "Who's  there?"  And  then  I 
heard  some  one  outside  say:  "Thank 
God!"  and  I  knew  it  was  Henry. 

But  if  Henry  was  thankful,  you  can 

better  believe  I  wasn't;  I  was  mad  as 

a  hornet.    What  did  he  mean  by  giving 

me  such  a  fright?    Marching  up  to  the 

90 


TWIN  BEDS 

front  door,  I  flung  it  wide  open.  And 
then  I  nearly  died!  For  Henry  wasn't 
alone ;  there  was  a  man  with  him — a  fat 
man  in  pink  pyjamas,  who  carried  a 
stove-lifter ! 

The  fat  man  stared  at  me,  and  I  stared 
at  him,  till,  remembering  all  of  a  sudden 
I  hadn't  anything  on  but  my  nightgown, 
I  dashed  behind  the  door.  To  make  mat- 
ters worse,  Ma  kept  pounding  on  her 
door,  and  demanding  to  be  let  out. 

"Are  you  hurt,  dearest !"  asked 
Henry. 

"No,  I  ain't!"  I  said. 

"Some  one  seems  to  be  in  trouble, " 
said  the  fat  man. 

"Yes,  what's  the  matter  with  your 
Ma?"  asked  Henry. 

"Nothing!"  I  replied.  "Henry,  you 
come  in  here!" 

*  *  If  you  don 't  need  me  any  more, ' '  said 
the  fat  man. 

91 


TWIN  BEDS 

''No,  we  don't  need  you,  and  never 
did ! "  I  snapped  from  behind  the  door. 

"I'm  sure  I'm  much  obliged  to  yon 
for  your  assistance,"  said  Henry. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  the  fat  man. 
"Good-night."  And  with  that  he 
started  downstairs,  and  Henry  came  in. 

"Now,"  I  said,  closing  the  door  and 
standing  with  my  back  against  it,  "will 
you  kindly  explain  what  you  mean  by 
trying  to  break  down  the  front  door,  and 
scaring  me  to  death?" 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  was  scared?" 
said  Henry.  "When  I  came  back  from 
sending  that  telegram  and  found  the 
front  door  bolted,  I  thought  something 
dreadful  had  happened.  And  then  when 
I  knocked  and  you  didn't  answer,  I  could 
only  think  of  one  explanation,  and  that 
was  that  Mr.  Deane  had  murdered  you." 

*  *  Murdered  my  aunt !  Didn  't  my  note 
explain?" 

92 


TWIN  BEDS 

"What  note?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  didn't 
get  the  note  I  wrote  you?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about,"  said  Henry. 

"Then  somebody  else  got  it,  or — "  I 
opened  the  front  door  again,  and  then  I 
saw  what  had  become  of  the  note.  You 
see  the  landing  carpet  was  loose  at  the 
door  sill,  and  what  I'd  done  was  to  push 
the  note  not  only  under  the  door,  but 
under  the  carpet,  as  well. 

1 '  There, ' '  I  said,  * '  that  explains  every- 
thing!" 

"But,  what  about  your  Ma!" 

"She's  locked  in.  You  read  the  note 
and  you'll  understand.  You  see,  Ma 
came  into  our  bedroom  after  you'd 
gone." 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  Henry. 
* '  Then  she  saw  Mr.  Deane  in  my  bed ! ' ' 

"She  did  and  she  didn't.  Of  course 
93 


TWIN  BEDS 

she  saw  him,  but  only  the  top  of  his 
head  was  showing,  so  she  thought  it  was 
you,  and  I  let  her  think  so." 

"Then  it's  all  right,"  said  Henry. 

"It  ain't,  either;  it's  all  wrong.  Ma 
smelled  whisky  the  minute  she  came  into 
our  room.  And  what  with  Mr.  Deane 
being  dead  to  the  world,  and  not  able  to 
defend  his  character,  which  he  couldn't 
have,  anyway,  and  me  being  fool  enough 
to  let  Ma  think  he  was  you — " 

"Great  Scott!"  said  Henry.  "Then 
Ma  thinks  I'm—" 

"Exactly,"  I  said. 

"But  why  did  you  lock  her  in  her 
room  1 ' ' 

"*  "Because,  thinking  Mr.  Deane  was 
you,  and  him  the  worse  for  drink,  she  in- 
sisted on  my  tucking  in  with  her.  And 
then  you  had  to  go  and  get  a  fat  man  to 
break  down  the  front  door,  and  see  your 
wife  with  nothing  on  but  a  nightgown. 
94 


TWIN  BEDS 

Besides,  I  thought  it  was  burglars  trying 
to  get  in,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  have  Ma 
shot  at  by  burglars  if  I  could  help  it. ' ' 

"But  I  had  to  get  some  one  to  help 
me,"  said  Henry.  "I  couldn't  break 
down  the  door  alone. " 

"Who  wanted  you  to  break  it  down? 
And  now  there 's  Ma  to  explain  things  to. 
We've  got  to  do  something,  or  she'll  hol- 
ler herself  sick,  and  wear  all  the  skin  off 
her  knuckles." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Henry,  "your  Ma  will 
wake  up  everybody  in  the  block  if  we 
don't  do  something." 

"Well,  then,  hurry  up  and  think! 
What  shall  we  tell  her!" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  said  Henry,  "un- 
less we  tell  her  the  truth." 

"And  have  her  find  out  I'd  been  lying 

to  her,  and  allowing  a  strange  man  to 

sleep  in  my  twin  bed?    Not  much!    No, 

we'll  tell  her  a  burglar  was  trying  to 

95 


TWIN  BEDS 

break  into  the  flat,  and  I  locked  her  in  to 
keep  her  from  doing  anything  rash, 
knowing  how  brave  she  is.  That's  what 
we'll  tell  her.  Hang  your  hat  on  the 
rack,  and  come  along." 

Ma  was  the  maddest  white  woman  in 
America  when  we  opened  her  door.  She 
glared  at  me  like  a  tiger ;  wanted  to  know 
what  I  meant  by  locking  her  in,  and  if  I 
thought  that  was  any  way  for  a  daughter 
to  treat  her  mother. 

"I  only  did  it  to  protect  you,  Ma,"  I 
said. 

"  Protect  me?  Protect  me  from 
what?" 

"From  burglars,  Ma." 

"What's  she  talking  about,  Henry?" 

1 '  Burglars,  Ma ! "  I  screamed.  i '  They 
tried  to  break  into  the  flat !  If  you  don't 
believe  it,  come  and  look  at  the  front 
door." 

Ma  was  perfectly  willing  to  look  at  the 
96 


TWIN  BEDS 

front  door,  so  we  trailed  down  the  hall, 
opened  the  door,  and  Henry  pointed  out 
the  dents  the  fat  man  had  made  with  his 
stove-lifter.  But  even  then  Ma  was  only 
half-convinced. 

"I  don't  believe  there  were  any  bur- 
glars," she  said,  "and  even  if  there  were, 
you  had  no  business  to  lock  me  in  my 
room,  Blanche." 

"It  was  to  save  you  from  being  shot 
at,  Ma.'r 

"Well,  I'd  rather  be  shot  at  than  be 
locked  in  a  room  the  way  I  was.  Don't 
you  ever  let  me  catch  you  doing  anything 
like  that  again." 

"I  won't,  Ma,"  I  promised.  I  hoped 
it  wouldn't  be  necessary  a  second  time. 

"H'm!"  said  Henry.  "Don't  you 
wish  to  tell  Ma  something  else, 
Blanche?" 

' '  Oh,  yes !    I  want  you  to  take  a  good 
look  at  Henry,  Ma.    I've  told  him  what 
97 


TWIN  BEDS 

you  thought  about  him,  and  his  feel- 
ings are  hurt.'* 

"Yes,  Ma,"  said  Henry,  "how  could 
you  think  I'd  take  too  much  to  drink?" 

"Because,"  said  Ma,  "I  smelled 
whisky  for  one  thing." 

"He'd  had  a  toothache,"  I  explained, 
"and  had  been  holding  whisky  in  his 
mouth  to  ease  the  pain.  You  can  see  for 
yourself  he's  as  sober  as  a  judge." 

"I  haven't  got  my  glasses,"  said  Ma, 
"but  he  seems  sober.  I'm  sorry  if  I've 
done  you  an  injustice,  Henry,  though  I 
must  say  that  holding  whisky  in  your 
mouth  is  likely  to  lead  you  to  forming 
a  habit  for  strong  drink,  if  you  haven't 
already  got  the  habit,  which  I'm  sure  I 
hope  you  haven't.  And  even  if  you  have, 
it  isn't  much  worse  than  Blanche's  habit 
of  locking  people  in  their  rooms. ' ' 

Luckily,  I  understood  Ma  well  enough 
to  know  that  what  she  said  amounted  to 
98 


TWIN  BEDS 

her  admitting  tliat  she  was  in  the  wrong. 
So  I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  At  last 
everything  seemed  to  be  running 
smoothly.  Though  the  thought  of  it 
made  me  turn  as  pink  as  his  pyjamas,  I 
even  forgave  Henry  for  letting  that  fat 
man  see  me  there  at  the  door  in  my  night- 
gown. 

But  nothing  could  go  right  that  night. 
For  just  as  I  was  congratulating  myself 
that  all  was  well,  I  heard  a  noise 
(it  sounded  like  some  one  overturning  a 
chair  in  our  bedroom)  that  scared  me 
worse  than  when  Henry  had  tried  to 
break  into  the  flat.  And  then,  before 
either  Henry  or  I  could  do  anything,  or 
get  Ma  out  of  the  hall,  our  bedroom  door 
opened,  and  Mr.  Deane  appeared  on  the 
scene. 

There  he  stood,  all  dressed  except  for 
his  coat  and  shoes,  thank  goodness!  but 
with  one  hand  on  his  stomach.    And  as 
99 


TWIN  BEDS 

he  blinked  at  the  light,  he  murmured, 
"Going  to  be  sick.  Going  to  be  awful 
sick!" 


100 


CHAPTER  VII 

OF  course  it  wasn't  funny.  Besides, 
Henry  says  I  haven't  any  sense  of 
humor,  and  maybe  I  haven't.  But  Mr. 
Deane  appearing  like  that  and  saying 
what  he  did,  sort  of  got  me  going ;  I  be- 
gan to  laugh.  And  once  I'd  started 
laughing  I  couldn't  stop,  though  you  can 
better  believe  I  wanted  to,  with  Henry 
glaring  at  me  the  way  he  was.  Mr, 
Deane  looked  mighty  reproachful,  too; 
and  Ma  stared  first  at  me  and  then  at 
Mr.  Deane,  her  eyes  as  big  as  saucers. 
And  me  laughing  like  I  was  enjoying  it 
when  I  was  really  half -crazy  with  won- 
dering how  on  earth  we'd  ever  be  able  to 
explain  things  to  Ma  now.  It  was  aw- 
ful! 

101 


TWIN  BEDS 

" Who's  that  man?"  demanded  Ma, 
pointing  to  Mr.  Deane.  "And  why  is 
Blanche  laughing?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Henry. 

"Going  to  be  sick,"  murmured  Mr. 
Deane.  "Going  to  be  sick  soon." 

"He  came  out  of  your  room,"  said 
Ma. 

"Tell  her,"  I  managed  to  gasp,  "tell 
her  he's  a  burglar." 

"You  stop  laughing,  and  tell  her  your- 
self," said  Henry. 

"Blanche  is  having  hysterics,"  said 
Ma. 

"Oh,"  said  Henry,  "is  that  what  ails 
her?" 

"Going  to  be  sick,"  murmured  Mr. 
Deane.  ' '  Going  to  be  sick  now. ' ' 

"No,  you're  not!"  said  Henry,  and 
with  that  he  grabbed  Mr.  Deane  by  the 
arm  and  yanked  him  into  our  bedroom, 
slamming  the  door  behind  him. 
102 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  Ma.  "Who's 
that  man,  Blanche,  and  what  is  Henry 
doing  to  him  ? ' ' 

But  I  only  shook  my  head  help- 
lessly. I  was  through  laughing  hy  this 
time ;  I  was  crying  now.  I  couldn't  even 
think  clear  any  more.  It  came  over  me 
suddenly  that  Mr.  Deane  was  the  second 
man  who  'd  seen  me  in  my  nightgown  that 
night,  and  so  I  naturally  cried  harder 
than  ever. 

Having  had  a  cousin  named  Loretta 
Barnes,  who  used  to  have  hysterics  every 
time  there  was  a  thunder  storm,  which  is 
kind  of  frequent  in  Indiana,  Ma  knew 
about  what  to  do.  So  she  began  sooth- 
ing me,  patting  me  on  the  shoulder,  and 
talking  to  me  like  I  was  a  baby.  ' '  There, 
there,"  she  said.  "Don't  you  cry, 
dearie.  It's  all  right.  I  won't  let  any- 
body hurt  you." 

At  that  my  mind  sort  of  cleared,  and 
103 


TWIN  BEDS 

I  thought  I  saw  a  way  to  at  least  post- 
pone any  more  explanations  till  to-mor- 
row. 

"Take — me — to — bed,"  I  sobbed. 

"Yes,"  said  Ma,  "that's  the  best  place 
for  you."  And  with  that  she  led  me 
into  her  room,  lighted  the  gas,  and 
tucked  me  into  her  bed. 

"Now,"  I  thought,  "if  she'll  only  go 
to  bed,  too,  everything  will  be  all  right. ' ' 

But  Ma  evidently  had  no  intention  of 
going  to  bed.  Instead,  after  smoothing 
my  pillow  and  patting  my  cheek,  she 
started  towards  the  door. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  I  screamed, 
sitting  up  in  bed. 

"I'm  going  to  see  if  Henry  needs  any 
help." 

"No,  no!"  I  cried.  "I  won't  be  left 
here  alone ! ' ' 

"But  Henry  may  need  me.    Who  was 
that  man,  Blanche  ? ' ' 
104 


TWIN  BEDS 

"He  was  a  burglar.  And  don't  you 
dare  leave  me  alone." 

"But  if  he's  a  burglar,  he  may  be  mur- 
dering Henry. ' ' 

"I  don't  care  if  he  is,"  I  said. 

'  *  Why,  Blanche  Hawkins ! ' ' 

"I — I'm  not  myself,  Ma,"  I  whim- 
pered. ' '  If  you  leave  me  alone,  I  '11  die. ' ' 

1 '  What 's  that  you  say. ' ' 

"I  said  Henry's  a  match  for  any  bur- 
glar that  ever  lived,  and  I  won't  be  left 
alone." 

"Then,"  said  Ma,  "I  know  what  I'll 
do." 

Wondering  what  on  earth  she  was  up 
to  now,  I  watched  Ma  cross  to  the  bureau, 
open  the  top  drawer,  and  take  something 
out — something  small  with  a  string  tied 
to  it.  She  was  making  for  the  window, 
which  was  open,  when  suddenly  realiz- 
ing what  she  was  up  to,  I  jumped  out  of 
bed,  and  running  over  to  her,  snatched 
105 


TWIN  BEDS 

what  she  had  out  of  her  hand.  It  was 
lucky  I  did,  too;  for  what  Ma  had  got 
out  of  the  bureau  was  a  police  whistle, 
and  what  she  meant  to  do  was  to  lean  out 
of  the  window  and  blow  it. 

Of  course  Ma  resented  my  snatching 
the  police  whistle  away  from  her,  and 
gave  me  fits.  '  *  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself!"  she  said.  "Haven't  you 
got  any  manners?  Give  me  back  that 
whistle!" 

"Do  you  know  what  would  happen  if 
you  blew  that  whistle  ? "  I  shouted.  ' '  The 
police  would  come ! ' ' 

'  *  Glory  be ! "  said  Ma.  '  *  Do  you  think 
I  don't  know  thatT' 

1 1  But  we  don 't  want  the  police ! ' ' 

"We  do,  too!  Haven't  we  got  a  bur- 
glar in  the  house?" 

"Yes,"  I  admitted,  "but  Henry  can 
take  care  of  him." 

"Maybe  he  can,  and  maybe  he  can't," 
106 


TWIN  BEDS 

said  Ma.  "You  give  me  that  whistle. 
I  'm  not  going  to  take  any  chances. ' r 

' '  But,  Ma,  if  the  police  come,  we  '11  all 
have  to  go  to  the  police  court,  and  tes- 
tify before  judges,  and  be  asked  ques- 
tions. " 

"I  don't  care  if  we  do!" 

'  *  But  I  care.  I  think  you  ought  to  con- 
sider me  a  little. ' ' 

"And  I  think  you  ought  to  consider 
Henry.  What  do  you  mean  by  leaving 
him  alone  at  the  mercy  of  a  burglar  t  If 
it  was  your  Pa,  you  can  better  believe 
I'd  be  with  him  instead  of  having  hys- 
terics, and  snatching  police  whistles  out 
of  my  mother's  hand.  I  can't  imagine 
what's  got  into  you,  Blanche.  Henry 
may  need  help  this  minute." 

"I'm  sure  he  doesn't,  Ma." 

"Well,  I'm  not  sure,"  said  Ma,  "but 
I'm  going  to  be.  I'm  fond  of  Henry, 
even  if  you  ain  't.  You  can  stay  here  or 
107 


TWIN  BEDS 

not,  just  as  you  like,  but  I'm  going  to 
Henry." 

"You  have  no  right  to  talk  like  that," 
I  said.  * '  If  Henry  needed  me,  I  'd  go  to 
him  through  fire  and  water,  and  you 
know  it!" 

"Then,  why  don't  you  go  to  him 
now?" 

"I'm  going,"  I  said.    "Come  along." 

With  that  I  marched  out  of  the  room, 
Ma  after  me,  and  over  to  Henry's  door, 
where  I  knocked. 

"Who's  there?"  called  Henry. 

"  It 's  me, ' '  I  said — ' '  me  and  Ma. " 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Ma  thinks  you're  being  murdered  by 
the  burglar.  Come  out  in  the  hall  a  min- 
ute, and  be  sure  and  close  the  door  after 
you." 

* '  There ! "  I  said  to  Ma,  as  Henry  ap- 
peared. "He's  all  right,  just  as  I  said 
he'd  be." 

108 


TWIN  BEDS 

" Where's  the  burglar?"  asked  Ma. 

"Tell  her  you've  tied  him  to  the  bed 
with  ropes,"  I  whispered. 

"I've  tied  him  up  with  ropes,  Ma." 

* '  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  Mm  ? ' ' 
demanded  Ma. 

"I'll  turn  him  over  to  the  police  to- 
morrow morning." 

1 *  Do  you  hear  that,  Blanche  ?  Henry 's 
going  to  turn  the  burglar  over  to  the  po- 
lice." 

"If  I  hadn't  prevented  it,  Ma  would 
have  blown  a  police  whistle  out  of  the 
window,"  I  whispered. 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  Henry. 

"I  can't  see  why  you  don't  have  the  po- 
lice in  now, ' '  said  Ma. 

' '  Because  we  'd  have  to  go  with  them, ' ' 
I  explained,  "and  we  all  need  sleep.  Be- 
sides, to-morrow  will  do  just  as  well. ' ' 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  Henry  sleep- 
ing in  a  room  with  a  burglar, ' '  said  Ma. 
109 


TWIN  BEDS 

"How  is  Mr.  Deane?"  I  whispered. 

"Well,  he  did  what  he  said  he  was  go- 
ing to  do, ' '  said  Henry.  ' '  Now,  Ma,  you 
and  Blanche  go  to  bed." 

"What  I  can't  understand,"  said  Ma, 
"is  how  the  burglar  got  into  your  bed- 
room. And  what's  queerer  still,  is  his 
coming  out  into  the  hall  the  way  he  did, 
for  he  must  have  known  we  were  there." 

"He  came  out  to  surrender,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

"But  burglars  don't  surrender  like 
that.  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it. 
If  I  hadn't  seen  him  with  my  own  eyes, 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  there  was  any 
burglar.  But  I  guess  you're  right  about 
going  to  bed — it's  all  hours.  Though 
how  I'm  going  to  sleep,  knowing  there's 
a  burglar  in  the  house,  is  beyond  me. 
Come  on  to  bed,  Blanche. ' ' 

"In  a  minute,"  I  said.  Then,  going 
up  to  Henry,  I  whispered:  "Get  Mr. 
110 


TWIN  BEDS 

Deane  out  of  the  house  early,  and  be  sure 
and  have  a  story  ready  for  Ma,  telling 
how  he  escaped. ' '  And  then  I  kissed  him 
good-night. 

"I  never  passed  such  a  night  in  my 
whole  life,"  said  Ma,  once  we  were  in 
her  room  and  in  bed.  "If  I  ever  do  go 
to  sleep,  which  ain't  probable,  I'll  have 
a  nightmare,  sure  as  guns.  So  if  you 
hear  me  groaning,  Blanche,  don't  be 
scared — just  wake  me  up. ' ' 

"I  will,"  I  promised.  "Go  to  sleep, 
now. ' ' 

Ma  did  go  to  sleep  right  away,  but  I 
didn't.  It  seemed  like  I  lay  awake  for 
hours.  And  finally,  when  I  did  go  to 
sleep,  I  dreamed  of  being  chased  through 
the  streets  in  my  nightgown  by  a  fat  man 
in  pink  pyjamas.  So  'twas  me  who  had 
the  nightmare  and  not  Ma.  But  even  at 
that,  what  I  dreamed  wasn't  much  worse 
than  what  really  happened  next  morning. 
Ill 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  I  woke  the  next  morning  it 
was  quite  late,  and  Ma  was  al- 
ready up.  "She's  probably  getting 
breakfast,"  I  thought.  "I  do  hope 
Henry  woke  early  and  smuggled  Mr. 
Deane  out  of  the  flat." 

Still,  even  if  Mr.  Deane  hadn't  es- 
caped yet,  it  would  be  easy  to  let  him  out 
the  front  door  while  Ma  was  in  the 
kitchen;  so  I  needn't  worry  about  that. 
But  I  did  need  some  clothes,  for  every 
stitch  I  owned,  except  the  nightgown  I 
had  on,  was  in  Henry's  room. 

Of  course  I  could  have  asked  Ma,  who 

was  already  dressed,  to  go  and  get  them 

for  me.    But,   somehow,  I  felt  in  my 

bones  that  Henry  had  overslept,  and  that 

112 


Henry  has  a  perfect  right  to  go  out  on  Saturday  nights  if  I  let  him 


Then  I  went  to  bed  too,  for  Henry  doesn't  like  me  to  sit  up  for  him 


TWIN  BEDS 

Mr.  Deane  was  still  occupying  my  twin 
bed.  If  that  was  so,  it  wouldn't  do  to 
send  Ma  for  my  clothes.  No,  I'd  have  a 
bath  first,  and  then  go  and  tap  on 
Henry's  door  myself. 

If  there's  anything  more  refreshing 
than  a  cold  bath  after  a  hard  night,  I'd 
like  to  know  what  it  is.  Anyway,  I  felt 
like  a  different  woman  after  I'd  got 
through,  even  if  I  was  afraid  to  look  in 
the  glass  for  fear  I'd  discover  my  hair 
had  turned  white.  You  may  laugh  as 
much  as  you  please,  but  it  was  a  real  sur- 
prise to  me  to  find  my  hair  was  the  same 
as  it  always  was.  And  considering  what 
I'd  been  through,  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  blame  me. 

On  the  way  down  the  hall  to  Henry's 
room,  I  glanced  in  at  the  dining-room, 
the  door  being  open.  Ma  wasn't  in 
sight,  but  I  could  hear  her  moving  around 
in  the  kitchen,  so  I  knew  she  was  all  right. 
113 


TWIN  BEDS 

Our  dining-robm  is  quite  large,  but  our 
kitchen  is  no  bigger  than  a  minute.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  isn't  a  separate  room 
at  all — just  an  alcove  off  the  dining-room, 
lighted  by  a  single  window  that  opens  on 
a  fire-escape.  But  it  does  very  nicely 
for  all  that. 

Well,  Ma  was  in  the  kitchen,  and 
there  was  no  use  letting  her  know  I  was 
up  yet,  so  I  slipped  down  the  hall  and 
tapped  at  Henry's  door.  When  nobody 
answered,  I  was  a  little  worried,  and  I 
tapped  again;  then  I  knocked  good  and 
hard.  Nobody  answered  this  time, 
either,  but  I  wasn't  worried  any  more. 
It  was  just  as  I'd  thought;  Henry  and 
Mr.  Deane  had  both  overslept  them- 
selves. Opening  the  door  gently,  I 
peered  in. 

The  room  was  pretty  dark,  for  all  the 
shades  were  down,  but  I  could  make  out 
that  some  one  was  in  my  bed. 
114 


TWIN  BEDS 

"It  must  be  Henry,"  I  thought.  "It 
wouldn't  be  likely  he'd  let  Mr.  Deane 
sleep  in  my  bed." 

Advancing  cautiously  into  the  room,  I 
stumbled  over  a  pair  of  shoes.  I  don't 
know  why,  but  that  sort  of  reassured  me, 
for  it  was  just  like  Henry  to  leave  his 
kshoes  out  for  people  to  fall  over.  By 
this  time,  too,  I  was  getting  used  to  the 
light,  and  I  could  see  that  the  man  in  my 
bed  was  Henry,  and  that —  Good  gra- 
cious !  I  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it, 
but  Henry's  own  bed  was  empty! 

I  glanced  nervously  over  my  shoulder, 
half-expecting  Mr.  Deane  to  spring  out 
at  me  from  behind  the  bureau.  Or  was 
he  hiding  in  the  clothes-closet?  .Well,  if 
he  was,  I  couldn  't  help  it.  Going  over  to 
the  window,  I  gave  the  blind  a  jerk  and 
it  flew  up,  flooding  the  room  with  sun- 
shine; and  then  I  wasn't  scared  any 
more.  For  there's  something  about  sun- 
115 


TWIN  BEDS 

shine  that  takes  the  edge  off  things,  and 
kind  of  gives  you  courage.  Besides,  I 
knew  now  what  had  happened.  Henry 
had  woke  up  early,  put  Mr.  Deane  out, 
and  then  gone  back  to  bed  again.  Just 
the  same,  it  was  time  Henry  was  getting 
up,  so  I  went  over  and  shook  him  gently. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  wak- 
ing with  a  start. 

"Nothing's  the  matter." 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?    I  thought  maybe 
it  was —    What  are  you  doing  in  here  ? ' ' 

"I  came  in  to   wake  you  up.    It's 
nearly  nine  o'clock." 

"Yes,  I  know — "    He  was  sitting  up 
now,  and  staring  at  his  own  bed. 

"What's  wrong?"  I  asked. 

< '  Wh— where 's  Deane  ? ' ' 

"Don't  you  remember?    You  put  him 
out,  and  then  went  back  to  bed." 

"It's  funny,"  said  Henry,  "but  I  don't 
remember  a  thing  about  it." 
116 


TWIN  BEDS 

"You  were  probably  half -asleep  at  the 
time,"  I  said. 

"But  how  do  you  know  I  put  him  out  ? ' ' 

"Because  he  isn't  here." 

"But  I  couldn't  have  put  him  out. 
Surely  I  would  remember  if  I  had." 

"Then  he  let  himself  out,"  I  said, 
"and  good  riddance." 

"I  wonder." 

"But,  Henry,  if  he  isn't  here —  Get 
up  and  see  if  he's  hiding  in  the  clothes- 
closet." 

"No,  he  isn't  in  the  clothes-closet," 
Henry  reported,  after  a  thorough  search. 

"Well,  my  clothes  are,"  I  said,  "and 
I  want  them. ' ' 

"It's  probably  just  as  you  think, 
dear,"  said  Henry.  "He  woke  up, 
found  himself  in  a  strange  place,  and 
managed  to  steal  out  and  find  the  front 
door.  And  now  he's  wondering  how  in 
the  world  he  got  here.  Probably  he'll 
117 


TWIN  BEDS 

never  know  just  where  he  spent  the 
night.  It  must  make  a  man  feel  mighty 
queer  to  find  he's  spent  the  night — " 
Henry  stopped  all  of  a  sudden,  and  I  saw 
he  was  staring  at  the  floor. 

" What's  the  matter  now?"  I  asked. 

* '  Nothing, ' '  said  Henry.  ' '  Nothing — 
much — only — I  say,  Blanche,  do  you 
know  whose  shoes  those  are!" 

I  looked  at  the  shoes  Henry  was  point- 
ing at.  They  were  the  same  shoes  I'd 
stumbled  over  when  I'd  come  into  the 
room.  And  they  weren't  Henry's  shoes! 

"Good  gracious  1"  I  said.  "Mr. 
Deane  has  gone  off  and  left  his  shoes!" 

"But  has  he  gone?"  said  Henry. 

' '  Of  course  he 's  gone !  The  room  was 
dark,  and  he  couldn't  find  his  shoes,  so 
he  went  without  them.  I'll  bet  you'd 
have  done  the  same  if  you'd  woke  up  in 
a  strange  room  with  a  strange  man  sleep- 
ing beside  you  in  a  twin  bed.  You  must 
118 


TWIN  BEDS 

remember  Mr.  Deane  isn't  used  to  twin 
beds;  he  practically  said  so  himself.  I 
guess  he  was  so  scared  he  didn't  even 
think  of  his  shoes.  Anything  to  escape, 
was  his  motto ;  I  just  know  it  was." 

"Well,  perhaps,"  said  Henry.  "Just 
the  same,  I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  the 
front  door." 

"You'll  find  he's  slipped  the  bolt;  you 
see  if  you  don't,"  I  called  after  him. 

But  when  Henry  came  back,  I  knew 
it  was  serious.  You  see,  the  bolt  on  the 
front  door  was  still  in  place,  so  Mr. 
Deane  couldn't  have  left  the  flat. 

"But  where  can  he  be?"  asked  Henry. 

"Goodness  knows!"  I  said.  "It 
would  be  just  like  him  to  wander  out  in 
the  kitchen  and  scare  Ma  to  death.  Come 
to  think  of  it,  I  heard  some  one  moving 
around  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  took  it  for 
granted  it  was  Ma.  Do  run  and  make 
sure,  Henry!" 

119 


TWIN  BEDS 

As  Henry  dashed  from  the  room,  I 
sank  down  on  my  own  bed,  my  legs  weak 
and  trembling.  If  anything  had  hap- 
pened to  Ma,  Fd  never  forgive  myself. 
I  was  never  so  thankful  in  my  life  as 
when  Henry  returned  and  reported  that 
though  she  hadn't  seen  him,  he'd  seen 
Ma,  and  she  was  all  right. 

"But  where  can  he  be?  He  certainly 
wasn't  in  Ma's  room,  unless — " 

"Unless  what,  dear!" 

"He  might  be  in  there  now,"  I  said, 
"hiding  in  Ma's  clothes-closet." 

This  started  Henry  off  again.  But  in 
a  minute  he  came  back  with  the  news  that 
nobody  was  hiding  in  Ma's  room,  or  in 
her  clothes-closet,  either. 

Then  I  had  an  awful  thought,  and  I 
kind  of  groaned. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Henry. 
"Are  you  ill?" 

"Not  yet,"  I  said,  "but  I'm  liable 
120 


TWIN  BEDS 

to   be   if —    Oh,   Henry,   supposing — " 

"Yes?" 

"Oh,  it's  so  terrible!" 

"What's  too  terrible?" 

' '  I  just  can 't  say  it.  You  know  that — 
that  laundry  basket  in — in  the  bath- 
room?" 

"That's  so,"  said  Henry.  "That 
basket's  big  enough  to  hold  a  man." 

' '  It  isn  't ! "  I  screamed.  * '  I  just  know 
it  isn't!  And  you've  no  right  to  say 
so." 

"But  I  can't  see— " 

"Maybe  you  can't  see,  but  I  can !  I'd 
have  you  know,  Henry  Hawkins,  that  I've 
just  finished  taking  a  bath  in  the  bath- 
room ! ' ' 

At  that  Henry  began  to  laugh. 

"You  get  out  of  here!"  I  said. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  look  in  the  laun- 
dry basket  ?  Is  that  it  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  want  you  to  look  in 
121 


TWIN  BEDS 

the  laundry  basket,  and  in  the  china- 
closet  off  the  dining-room,  and  every- 
where else  you  can  think  of. ' ' 

"All  right,"  said  Henry,  and  started 
to  go.  But  I  wouldn't  let  him. 

"  You  just  wait  a  minute,"  I  said.  "I 
don't  care  where  you  find  Mr.  Deane;  but 
if  you  do  find  him,  and  tell  me  you  found 
him  in  the  laundry  basket,  I'll  divorce 
you  as  sure  as  my  name's  Blanche  Haw- 
kins 1  Now,  go!" 


122 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHILE  Henry  was  looking  for  Mr. 
Deane,  I  did  up  my  hair  and 
dressed  myself,  so  when  he  returned  I 
was  clothed  and  in  my  right  mind,  so  to 
speak. 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"If  I  were  to  tell  you  I  found  Mr. 
Deane  in  the  laundry  basket  in  the  bath- 
room— "  he  began. 

"I  wouldn't  believe  you." 

"And  you'd  be  quite  right,  dear.  He 
wasn't  in  the  laundry  basket." 

"Where  was  he,  then?" 

"He  wasn't  anywhere,  so  far  as  I 
could  discover." 

"But,  Henry,  he  must  be  somewhere." 
123 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I'm  not  denying  he's  somewhere. 
What  I  do  say  is  that  he's  not  in  our 
flat." 

"But  if  he  didn't  go  out  the  front 
door — " 

"You've  forgotten  the  fire-escape," 
said  Henry. 

" Good  gracious !  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  he  went  down  the  fire-escape  1 ' ' 

"Either  down  it,  or  up  it." 

"But  I  can't  see  any  object  in  going  up 
the  fire-escape. ' ' 

1 '  Or  down  it,  either, ? '  said  Henry.  *  *  It 
ends  a  good  twenty-five  feet  from  the 
ground.  I  looked  out  the  kitchen  win- 
dow, but  I  didn't  see  anybody  stretched 
out  in  the  court  below. ' ' 

"Perhaps  the  poor  man  is  up  on  the 
roof  this  minute. ' ' 

"If  he  is,  he  can  stay  there,"  said 
Henry.  "There's  another  funny  thing 
connected  with  it,  too.  Ma  declares — " 
124 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Oh,  you've  seen  Ma,  then!  Did  you 
tell  her  Mr.  Deane  has  escaped?" 

"No.  I  told  her  I  got  up  early  and 
took  him  over  to  the  police  station.  And 
when  she  asked  me  how  early,  I  said  'six 
o'clock.'  " 

"It's  perfectly  awful  the  way  we've 
been  lying  to  poor  Ma,"  I  said.  "But 
I  don't  see  what  else  we  could  have 
done." 

"No,"  Henry  agreed.  "But  I  wish 
I'd  told  her  a  different  lie,  for  now  she 
declares  there's  another  burglar  in  the 
flat." 

"Another  burglar?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

' '  Well,  it  seems  she  got  up  about  eight 
o'clock,  went  out  into  the  kitchen,  lighted 
the  gas  range,  and  put  some  water  on 
to  boil  to  make  herself  a  cup  of  coffee; 
then  she  filled  a  pitcher  with  Great  Bear 
Water,  put  it  on  the  sideboard  in  the  din- 
125 


TWIN  BEDS 

ing-room,  and  then  went  in  to  take  her 
bath.  And  when  she  went  back,  the 
water  pitcher  was  gone." 

"Gone?" 

"It  had  disappeared  completely. " 

"But  how  could  the  water  pitcher  dis- 
appear?" 

"That's  what  Ma  wanted  to  know. 
She  said  the  first  thing  she  did  was  to 
look  in  and  see  if  we  were  both  asleep, 
and  she  must  have  looked  in  here,  for  she 
mentioned  my  being  in  your  bed  and  not 
in  my  own." 

"We  could  have  pretended  we  were 
asleep,"  I  argued.  "I'll  just  tell  Ma  I 
got  up  and  took  the  water  pitcher. ' ' 

"But  that  wouldn't  be  true,"  said 
Henry. 

"I  know  it  wouldn't,"  I  said.  "But 
I've  already  told  so  many  lies,  one  more 
won't  make  any  difference." 

"If  you  told  that  lie,  it  would  make  a 
126 


TWIN  BEDS 

difference,  for  you'd  have  to  produce  the 
water  pitcher,  and  you  can't.'' 

"Then  you  think  Mr.  Deane  stole  it?" 

"No,"  said  Henry,  "I  know"  he 
didn't." 

"Then  how  on  earth—?" 

"I've  figured  it  out  this  way.  When 
Mr.  Deane  woke  up,  what  he'd  naturally 
want  more  than  anything  in  the  world 
would  be  a  drink  of  water — lots  of 
water." 

"Yes." 

"So  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  go 
and  hunt  for  some.  And  he  found  the 
pitcher,  full  of  water,  on  the  sideboard  in 
the  dining-room." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  see— " 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  After  he'd 
found  the  pitcher,  he  picked  it  up  and  be- 
gan drinking  out  of  it."  . 

"He  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  I  said 
— "it  isn't  good  manners." 
127 


TWIN  BEDS 

"No  one  ever  lets  good  manners  inter- 
fere with  a  great  thirst,"  said  Henry. 
"Anyway,  that's  what  he  did.  And 
while  he  was  drinking,  Ma  opened  a  door, 
or  something,  and  it  scared  him  so  he 
dropped  the  pitcher." 

"You  make  me  tired,"  I  said.  "To 
hear  you  talk,  anybody  would  think  I 
was  Doctor  Watson,  and  you  were  Sher- 
lock Holmes.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Deane 
did  anything  of  the  sort. ' ' 

"But  I  can  prove  it,"  said  Henry, 
handing  me  a  piece  of  jagged  glass. 
"Take  a  look  at  that." 

I  examined  the  piece  of  glass  carefully, 
and  to  tell  the  truth  it  did  look  as  if  it 
might  have  been  part  of  our  water 
pitcher.  "Where  did  you  find  it?"  I 
asked. 

"On  the  floor  under  the  sideboard. 
Also,  there  was  a  wet  spot  on  the  car- 
pet." 

128 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I  hope  you  didn't  show  it  to  Ma,"  I 
said. 

"No.  She  was  in  the  kitchen  when  I 
discovered  it.  She  seemed  so  sure  some- 
one had  stolen  the  water  pitcher  that  I 
thought  I'd  better  investigate." 

"But  what  happened  to  the  other 
pieces  of  the  pitcher?" 

"Why,  when  Mr.  Deane  dropped  the 
pitcher,  he  probably  dodged  out  into  the 
kitchen  where  he  noticed  the  fire-escape. 
Then,  as  nobody  came,  he  went  back, 
gathered  up  the  broken  glass,  and  dis- 
posed of  it  somehow  or  other;  only  he 
failed  to  see  the  piece  I  found,  it  being 
under  the  sideboard.  And  then  he  de- 
parted by  way  of  the  fire-escape.  Now, 
am  I  or  am  I  not,  a  Sherlock  Holmes  f ' ' 

"I  do  believe  you're  right,"  I  said. 

"I  must  say  I  think  it  was  awfully  clever 

of  you  to  piece  things  together  the  way 

you  did. ' '    I  gazed  at  Henry  admiringly* 

129 


TWIN  BEDS 

"It's  more  tlian  likely  that  Mr. 
Deane's  up  on  the  roof,"  said  Henry. 
"It  would  be  a  mad  thing  to  do,  to  drop 
twenty-five  feet  to  the  court  below ;  he  'd 
probably  break  his  legs  if  he  did.  Be- 
sides, the  janitor  or  his  wife  would  have 
been  bound  to  see  him." 
\  "And  he'd  have  to  go  home  in  his 
stocking  feet;  and  then  what  would  his 
wife  say!" 

"He  could  buy  a  pair  of  shoes,  if  it 
comes  to  that. ' ' 

"You've  forgotten  it's  Sunday,"  I 
said.  "Though,  he  might  find  a  shoe 
store  open  on  Third  Avenue,  I  doubt  it. 
He'd  have  been  lots  better  off  if  he'd 
stayed  here.  But  I  suppose  last  night 
is  a  complete  blank  to  him,  and  all  he 
thought  of  this  morning  was  that  he  was 
in  a  strange  place,  and  must  escape  some- 
how. How  are  we  going  to  return  his 
show  to  him,  Henry?" 
130 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I'm  blessed  if  I  know.  If  he  doesn't 
remember  about  last  night,  I  believe  it 
would  be  kinder  to  keep  his  shoes  than 
to  send  them  to  him.  For  sending  them 
would  prove  we  knew  his  name  and  ad- 
dress, and  that  might  worry  him." 

"Anyway,"  I  said,  "there's  no  use 
borrowing  trouble.  The  thing  to  do  now 
is  for  you  to  take  your  bath  and  dress 
yourself,  while  I  go  out  and  set  the  ta- 
ble, and  help  Ma." 

I  found  Ma  seated  by  the  window  in  the 
kitchen,  looking  at  the  comic  supplement 
of  the  Sunday  paper,  which  had  come  up, 
with  the  cream,  on  the  dumb  waiter. 

"Why,  good-morning,  Ma,"  I  said. 
"What's  new  with  the  Katzen jammer 
Kids  this  morning?" 

"They're  scandalous!"  said  Ma.  "I 
don't  see  why  newspapers  print  such 
things. ' ' 

"To  amuse  people  who  pretend  they 
131 


TWIN  BEDS 

don't  like  them — like  you  and  me,  Ma." 

"I  don't  like  them,"  said  Ma.  "I 
don't  believe  in  Sunday  newspapers,  any- 
way ;  back  home  I  never  allow  one  in  my 
house.  Did  Henry  tell  you  about  the 
burglar's  stealing  the  water  pitcher?" 

"Yes,  Ma." 

"Two  burglars  in  twenty-four  hours 
is  a  good  many,  even  for  New  York,  it 
seems  to  me.  Do  you  often  have  bur- 
glars, Blanche?" 

"Not  any  oftener  than  we  can  help," 
I  replied.  "What  are  you  doing  with 
that  carving  knife  in  your  lap,  Ma  ? — and 
that  police  whistle  tied  around  your 
neck?" 

"Oh,  I  just  thought  I'd  have  them 
kandy,  just  in  case!" 

' '  In  case  of  what,  Ma  ? " 

"The  way  I  figure  it  out,"  said  Ma, 
"a  burglar  may  drop  in  any  minute. 
And  why  shouldn't  they,  with  ladders 
132 


TWIN  BEDS 

up  the  back  of  every  house,  and  iittle 
platforms  for  them  to  rest  on?  No  won- 
der  there  are  so  many  burglars  in  New 
York;  everything's  made  so  easy  for 
them." 

"But  you've  got  to  have  fire-escapes, 
Ma;  it's  the  law.  I'm  going  to  set  the 
table  now,  and  you  can  put  the  coffee  on, 
and  fry  the  ham,  and  boil  the  eggs. ' ' 

With  that  I  went  into  the  dining-room, 
opened  the  door  of  the  china-closet, 
which  is  big  enough  to  keep  lots  of  things 
in  besides  china,  got  out  the  breakfast 
dishes,  and  set  the  table.  Then  I  opened 
the  sideboard  drawer  to  take  out  the 
knives,  and  forks,  and  napkins.  And 
then —  Well,  I  could  hardly  believe  my 
eyes ;  but  as  sure  as  I  live,  there,  in  plain 
sight,  on  top  of  the  napkins,  lay  a  pile  of 
broken  glass!  So  that  is  how  Mr. 
Deane  had  disposed  of  the  broken  water 
pitcher.  Closing  the  drawer  hastily,  I 
133 


TWIN  BEDS 

ran  in  to  tell  Henry  what  I'd  found;  but 
he  wasn't  in  his  room.  No,  of  course 
not;  he  was  in  the  bathroom  taking  his 
bath. 

Then  it  occurred  to  me  it  was  silly  to 
let  Ma  go  on  thinking  there  'd  been  a  sec- 
ond burglar.  One  was  bad  enough. 
Why  couldn't  I  tell  her — f  It  wasn't 
true,  of  course,  but  certainly  it  would  be 
better  to  tell  her  a  hundred  lies  than  to 
have  her  expecting  a  burglar  any  minute, 
with  a  carving  knife  handy,  and  a  police 
whistle  hung  around  her  neck.  So  I 
went  back  into  the  kitchen  where  she  was 
breaking  an  egg  for  the  coffee,  and  said : 
"Ma,  I've  just  remembered  something. 
I  had  a  funny  dream  last  night;  or  it 
might  have  been  this  morning,  for  all  I 
know." 

"What  was  it  about?" 

"I  dreamed  I  was  thirsty/' 

"Dreamed  you  were  what?" 
134 


TWIN  BEDS 

" Thirsty,  Ma." 

' '  Oh ! ' '  said  Ma.  * '  I  thought  you  said 
'thirty.'  Well,  I  don't  see  anything 
funny  about  that." 

"Just  you  wait.  In  my  dream,  I  got 
out  of  bed,  and  walked  into  the  dining- 
room." 

"You  did  used  to  walk  in  your  sleep 
when  you  were  a  little  tyke,  but  I  guess 
you  outgrew  it  long  ago. ' ' 

"I  wonder,"  I  said.  "I  dreamed  I 
got  up,  went  into  the  dining-room,  took 
up  the  water  pitcher  to  pour  myself  out 
a  drink,  and  somehow  the  pitcher  slipped 
out  of  my  hand  and  broke  on  the  floor. 
And  then  I  thought  (you  see,  I  imagined 
I  was  a  little  girl  again)  'Ma  will  be 
awfully  mad  at  me  for  breaking  her  best 
water  pitcher.'  So  I  picked  up  the 
pieces  from  the  floor,  and  hid  them 
somewhere;  only  I  can't  remember 
where. ' ' 

135 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I  should  hope  not,"  said  Ma.  "It 
was  only  a  dream,  you  know." 

"But  was  it?  Maybe  I  did  get  up? 
and  maybe  I  did  break  the  pitcher? 
Come  on  in  the  dining-room,  Ma,  and  I'll 
see  if  I  can  think  where  I  put  the 
pieces."  So  we  went  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  I  made  Ma  show  me  where 
she'd  set  the  pitcher. 

"That's  just  what  I  thought,"  I  said. 
"And  I  dropped  it  here.  Do  look,  Ma; 
the  carpet's  wet  where  I  dropped  the 
pitcher!" 

* '  Goodness  sakes ! ' '  said  Ma,  stooping 
and  examining  the  carpet.  "  It  is  wet,  as 
sure  as  I  live." 

"And  then,"  I  went  on,  as  if  I  was 
having  a  vision,  "and  then  I  picked  up 
the  pieces  of  the  pitcher,  and  put  them — 
put  them —  Look  in  that  drawer!"  I 
commanded  suddenly,  pointing  to  the 
drawer  in  the  sideboard.  Ma  did,  and  of 
136 


TWIN  BEDS 

course  she  found  what  was  left  of  the 
water  pitcher. 

"Great  Land  of  Goshen!"  she  cried. 
"It's  just  as  you  dreamed  it,  Blanche! 
There's  no  getting  around  it;  you  must 
have  walked  in  your  sleep." 

Though  it  was  wicked  of  me,  I  guess  I 
was  almost  as  proud  of  making  Ma  be- 
lieve I'd  broken  the  water  pitcher  in  my 
sleep,  as  Henry  was  of  solving  the  mys- 
tery of  what  had  become  of  it  in  the  first 
place;  I  couldn't  wait  to  tell  Henry  what 
I'd  done.  So  I  said:  "Now  you 
needn't  worry  about  burglars  any  more, 
Ma.  I'll  go  and  tell  Henry  to  hurry  up, 
or  he'll  be  late  to  breakfast." 

It  says  in  the  Bible  that  pride  goeth  be- 
fore destruction,  and  a  haughty  spirit  be- 
fore a  fall.  It  certainly  does — some- 
times. For  I  was  no  more  out  in  the  hall 
than  the  door-bell  rang. 

I  pushed  the  button  in  the  hall,  heard 
137 


TWIN  BEDS 

the  front  door  downstairs  slam,  and 
then  looked  in  Henry's  room.  But  of 
course  he  wasn't  there;  he  was  still  in 
the  bathroom  taking  his  bath.  I  won- 
dered who  on  earth  could  be  ringing  our 
bell. 

I  was  soon  to  find  out.  For  when  I 
opened  the  door,  I  was  confronted  by  a 
policeman,  and  a  stout  lady  in  black  silk 
who  informed  me,  in  a  voice  as  cold  and 
hard  as  an  icicle,  that  she  was  Mrs. 
Henry  Deane,  and  that  she'd  come  for 
her  husband. 


138 


CHAPTER  X 

TO  say  that  I  was  struck  all  of  a  heap 
would  be  putting  it  mildly.  Mrs. 
Henry  Deane — and  a  policeman !  A  po- 
liceman— and  Mrs.  Henry  Deane !  How 
on  earth  had  Mrs.  Deane  found  out 
where  her  husband  had  spent  the  night? 
And  why  the  policeman?  Did  he  think 
we — ?  Did  Mrs.  Deane  imagine  that 

T f 

JL  . 

"I've  come  for  my  husband,"  Mrs. 
Deane  repeated  in  a  voice  that  made  me 
hate  her.  "And  I  advise  you  to  produce 
him  at  once,  or  I'll — " 

"You'll  what?"  I  asked.  "You  talk 
like  your  husband  was  a  rabbit,  and  I 
could  do  sleight  of  hand  with  a  stovepipe 
139 


TWIN  BEDS 

hat.  I  can't  produce  your  husband  for 
two  reasons ;  in  the  first  place,  I  donbt  if 
he  is  your  husband,  and  in  the  second 
place,  he  isn't  here." 

"I'm  sorry,  mum,"  said  the  pottceman, 
"but  there  was  a  telegram  sent  last  night 
about  this  lady's  husband,  and  the  record 
at  the  telegraph  office  shows  that  it  was 
sent  by  a  Mr.  Henry  Hawkins.  Is  he 
your  husband  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  he  is!" 

' '  Then  you  know  something  about  Mr. 
Deane?" 

"I  know  a  lot  more  about  him  than  I 
want  to,"  I  replied.  "When  my  hus- 
band came  home  last  night,  he  found  him 
asleep,  and  the  worse  for  drink,  on  the 
landing  out  there,  and  being  a  kind- 
hearted  man — " 

"How  dare  you  say  my  husband  was 
the  worse  for  drink?" 

"Being  a  kind-hearted  man,"  I  con- 
140 


TWIN  BEDS 

tinned,  "  instead  of  turning  him  over  to 
the  police  like  he  deserved,  my  husband 
brought  him  in  and  put  him  to  bed.  And 
to  show  what  sort  of  a  man  Mr.  Deane 
is,  he  skipped  out  this  morning  without 
so  much  as  saying  'thank  you,'  and  broke 
our  best  water  pitcher,  to  boot.  That's 
the  kind  he  is ! " 

' '  A  likely  story !  Do  you  know  what  I 
believe,  officer?  I  believe  this  woman 
and  her  alleged  husband  enticed  my 
Henry  here  to  rob  him." 

"How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing!"  I 
cried. 

"Now,  now,  ladies,"  said  the  police- 
man. 

"You  keep  quiet!"  I  said.  "There's 
only  one  lady  here,  and  that's  me. 
You're  a  pretty  specimen,  ain't  you? 
to  bring  a  woman  like  this  to  my  flat,  and 
stand  by  while  she  insults  me." 

"I'm  sorry,  mum,  but  I  was  detailed 
141 


TWIN  BEDS 

on  this  case,  and  I  guess  I'll  have  to  see 
it  through. ' ' 

"Well,  you  can't  see  it  through  any 
too  quick  to  suit  me.  Here's  my  hus- 
band, now,"  I  said,  as  the  bathroom  door 
at  the  end  of  the  hall  opened,  and  Henry 
appeared  in  his  bathrobe.  "Oh,  Henry! 
Come  here ! ' ' 

"But  I  can't!"  cried  Henry,  dodging 
back  into  the  bathroom,  and  only  stick- 
ing his  head  out.  "I'm  not  dressed  for 
company. ' ' 

"These  people  ain't  company,  they're 
intruders-  This  woman  says  she's  Mrs. 
Henry  Deane." 

"Good  gracious!" 

"I'll  have  you  know  I  am  Mrs.  Henry 
Deane ! ' ' 

"And  I've  just  told  her  how  you  found 
Mr.  Deane — who  may,  or  may  not  be  her 
husband — out  on  the  landing  last  night, 
the  worse  for  drink." 
142 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Oh,"  said  Henry,  "you  told  her 
that!" 

"Yes.  And  I  also  told  her  how  you 
brought  him  in,  like  the  kind-hearted 
man  you  are,  and  tucked  him  in  my  bed." 

"In  your  bed?"  gasped  Mrs.  Deane. 

"In  my  bed,"  I  replied  firmly.  "If 
it  will  comfort  you  any,  I  don 't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  my  husband  and  I  have  twin 
beds;  also,  that  I  slept  in  my  mother's 
bed  last  night. " 

"Oh!  "said  Mrs.  Deane. 

"And  now,"  I  went  on,  "this  smart 
Aleck  policeman,  and  this  woman  who 
says  she's  married  to  Mr.  Deane,  want 
to  search  the  flat.  At  least,  that's  what 
I  suppose  they  want  to  do." 

"But  Mr.  Deane  isn't  here,"  said 
Henry;  "he's  gone." 

"I've  told  them  that  till  I'm  black  in 
the  face,  but  they  won't  believe  me." 

At  that,  Henry  came  out  of  the  bath- 
143 


TWIN  BEDS 

room  and  strided  towards  the  policeman. 
'  *  Look  here ! "  he  said.  '  *  When  my  wife 
says  a  thing  is  so,  it's  so." 

Women  are  funny.  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  seeing  Henry  walk  up  to  that 
policeman  the  way  he  did  for  anything  in 
the  world.  He  looked  so  hrave,  and  so 
ready  to  fight  for  me  I  According  to 
him,  I  always  told  the  truth,  and  he'd 
punch  any  policeman's  head  who  said  I 
didn't.  Yet  I'd  just  told  a  whopper 
about  his  finding  Mr.  Deane  on  the  land- 
ing, and  he  knew  it.  What  I'd  said 
about  his  tucking  Mr.  Deane  in  my  bed 
wasn't  true,  either,  for  Mr.  Deane  hadn't 
been  in  my  bed  at  all.  No,  I  only  said 
that  for  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Mrs. 
Deane  squirm.  Well,  she  certainly 
squirmed. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  doubting  my 
wife's  word?"  demanded  Henry. 

"I  don't  doubt  her  word,  Mr.  Haw- 
144 


TWIN  BEDS 

kins, ' '  replied  the  policeman.  ' '  I  would- 
n't  be  here  now,  only — " 

* '  Only  what  ? ' '  snapped  Henry. 

"Well,  you  see — "  He  pointed  help- 
lessly at  Mrs.  Deane. 

' "  No,  it  isn  't  his  fault, ' '  I  said.  ' l  He 's 
been  as  polite  as  possible." 

"I'm  sure  if  I  ve  been  mistaken — " 
Mrs.  Deane  began.  ' '  Not  that  I  believe 
for  a  minute  I  have, ' '  she  added  grimly. 

"If  seeing 's  believing,"  I  said,  "you'll 
soon  be  convinced  that  my  husband  and  I 
didn't  entice  Mr.  Deane,  who  may,  or  may 
not  be  your  husband,  here  to  rob  him. 
Perhaps  you'd  like  to  inspect  the  bed  he 
slept  in.  I  think  it  will  interest  you,  for 
it's  a  twin  bed,  and  you  don't  have  twin 
beds  at  home ;  or  so  your  husband,  if  he 
is  your  husband,  told  mine.  This  way, 
please.'* 

Of  course  it  wasn't  polite  of  me  to  talk 
to  Mrs.  Deane  the  way  I  did,  but  I  simply 
145 


TWIN  BEDS 

couldn't  stand  that  woman.  Though  I'm 
ordinarily  good-natured,  I've  as  sharp 
a  tongue  as  the  next  when  I'm  r 'iled ;  and 
I  guess  I  was  even  madder  than  Ma  had 
been  the  night  before  when  I'd  locked 
her  in  her  bedroom.  As  if  Henry  and  I 
were  the  kind  to  entice  people  into  our 
flat  and  rob  them!  So  I  led  the  way, 
very  high  and  mighty,  into  our  bedroom, 
and  once  inside,  began  to  explain  the 
order  of  events  in  about  the  way  the 
megaphone  man  does  on  a  rubberneck 
wagon. 

"Before  you,"  I  said,  "you  will  notice 
the  two  twin  beds  already  mentioned. 
Mr.  Deane,  who  may  or  may  not  have 
been  the  husband  of  the — er — injured 
party,  slept  in  that  one"  (which  wasn't 
true;  he'd  slept  in  the  other)  "and  my 
husband,  Mr.  Hawkins,  slept  here.  Now, 
after  carefully  looking  under  both  beds, 
under  the  table — under  the  bureau,  too, 
146 


TWIN  BEDS 

if  you  like — we  will  search  the  clothes- 
closet." 

You  see,  I  thought  I'd  make  Mrs. 
Deane  ashamed  of  herself;  but  if  I  did, 
she  didn't  show  it.  She  did  look  under 
both  beds,  and  she  did  rummage  in  the 
clothes-closet. 

"Now,"  I  said,  as  Mrs.  Deane  came 
out  of  the  clothes-closet,  "if  you  are 
satisfied  that  the  person,  who  may  or 
may  not  be  your  husband,  isn't  here, 
we'll  form  in  line  and  move  on  to  my 
mother's  bedroom." 

In  the  meantime  Henry  and  the  police- 
man had  been  standing  by  a  window,  the 
policeman  looking  sheepish,  and  Henry 
uncomfortable. 

"I  say,  Blanche,"  said  Henry,  "you — 
er —  Is  it  necessary  to  rub  it  in  like 
that?" 

"It's  just  as  necessary  as  it  is  to 
search  our  flat  for  a  man  who  isn't  in  it," 
147 


TWIN  BEDS 

I  replied.  And  then,  suddenly,  I  saw 
something  that  made  me  almost  faint. 
I  wondered  if  Mrs.  Deane  would  see  it, 
too.  I  hoped  to  goodness  she  would- 
n't! 

Of  course  you  think  it  was  Mr.  Deane 's 
shoes  I  saw.  Well,  it  wasn't.  His  shoes 
were  there,  all  right,  and  in  plain  sight, 
too.  But  it's  a  wise  wife — or  a  foolish 
one — who  knows  her  husband's  shoes  by 
sight.  No,  it  wasn't  his  shoes;  it  waa 
something  else. 

"Are  you  ready  now?"  I  asked,  my 
throat  so  dry  I  could  hardly  talk.  "Are 
you  ready  now  to  inspect  my  mother's 
room?" 

I've  already  told  you  that  I  believe 
there  are  such  things  as  thought  waves. 
I  also  believed,  once,  that  in  order  to 
receive  them  you  had  to  be  in  sympathy 
with  the  sender.  Certainly  Mrs.  Deane 
and  I  were  as  out  of  sympathy  with  each 
148 


other  as  two  people  very  well  could  be. 
And  yet — 

I  suppose  when  people  antagonize  you 
the  way  that  woman  did  me,  they're  lots 
closer  to  you,  mentally,  than  some  people 
are  that  you  really  like.  Anyway,  that's 
how  I've  figured  it  out.  For  just  as 
sure  as  there's  a  blue  sky  above,  the 
moment  I  began  wishing  she  wouldn't 
look  where  I  didn't  want  her  to,  Mrs. 
Deane  began  catching  my  thought  waves. 

"Are  you  ready  now  to  inspect  my 
mother's  room?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I'm  not.  I  feel 
there's  something —  What's  this?"  she 
demanded  suddenly,  stooping  to  pick  up 
a  green  leather  wallet  which  lay  by  the 
chair  beside  Henry's  bed.  "What's 
this?" 

"Oh,  that?"  I  said.    "Why,  that—" 

"If  is  isn't  Mr.  Deane 's  wallet!"  said 
Henry,  coming  forward. 
149 


TWIN  BEDS 

"How  did  it  get  here?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Deane  in  a  stern  voice. 

"It  must  have  fallen  out  of  his 
pocket,"  said  Henry. 

"How  do  you  know  it's  his  wallet?" 
asked  the  policeman. 

"Because  I  took  it  out  of  his  pocket 
last  night  to  verify  the  address  he  gave 
me.  You  see,  in  the  state  he  was 
in—" 

' '  Stop ! "  commanded  Mrs.  Deane.  ' 1 1 
won't  have  my  husband  maligned !  Is  it 
likely  that  my  husband  would  go  off 
without  his  wallet?" 

"Just  as  likely  as  that  he'd  go  off 
without  his  shoes,"  I  replied. 

"Who  says  he  went  without  his 
shoes?" 

"  I  do, "  I  said.    ' '  If  you  don 't  believe 
it,  here  they  are."    And  with  that,  I 
walked   over,   picked   up   Mr.   Deane 's 
shoes,  and  handed  them  to  his  wife. 
150 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Are  those  your  husband's  shoes V1 
asked  the  policeman. 

"How  do  I  know?"  answered  Mrs. 
Deane.  "They  look  like  his  shoes, 
but—  " 

"They  are  his  shoes,"  said  Henry. 
"And  I  leave  it  to  you,  Mr.  Officer,  if  a 
man  who  went  off  without  his  shoes 
wouldn't  be  likely  to  forget  his  wallet, 
and  maybe  his  pants. ' ' 

"How  dare  you  say  that  my  husband 
would  forget  his — " 

"I  didn't  say  he  would,"  Henry  re- 
plied, "I  only  said  he  might." 

"Officer!  I  believe  these  dreadful 
people  have  murdered  my  husband ! ' * 

*  *  Do  you  hear  that,  Henry  ?  She 's  call- 
ing us  murderers,  now !  Good  gracious ! 
What's  that?" 

"It  sounds  like  some  one  was  blowing 
a  police  whistle  in  the  dining-room," 
said  Henry. 

151 


TWIN  BEDS 

''They  are!"  I  cried.  "It's  Ma! 
Hurry!"  And  with  that,  I  dashed  out 
of  the  bedroom,  Henry,  Mrs.  Deane,  and 
the  policeman  after  me. 


152 


CHAPTER  XI 

OF  course  I  knew  exactly  what  had 
happened;  Mr.  Deane  had  got 
tired  of  staying  up  on  the  roof  all  alon« 
by  himself.  Perhaps  his  brain  had 
cleared,  too,  and  he  remembered  now 
that  we'd  treated  him  kindly.  Anyway, 
he'd  decided  to  come  back  to  our  flat,  and 
coming  back,  he'd  run  into  Ma  and 
scared  the  life  out  of  her;  and  Ma  had 
blown  her  police  whistle — 

All  this  popped  into  my  head  the  min- 
ute I  heard  the  police  whistle,  so  I  prac- 
tically knew  there  was  nothing  to  be 
scared  about.  Just  the  same,  I  was 
mighty  glad  to  escape  from  our  bedroom ; 
Mrs.  Deane  was  getting  too  awful.  And 
to  think  that  it  was  me  that  made  Henry 
153 


TWIN  BEDS 

go  out  and  send  her  that  telegram.  It 
was  like  lending  a  helping  hand  to  a 
stranger,  and  then  having  the  stranger 
turn  around  and  bite  you.  She  would  call 
Henry  and  me  murderers,  would  she? 
When  she'd  seen  her  husband  without 
his  shoes,  and  a  morning-after  head  on 
him,  maybe  she'd  think  different.  Mur- 
derers !  The  idea ! 

So,  you  see,  when  I  dashed  out  of  our 
bedroom,  I  wasn't  in  a  panic  at  all, 
though  even  Henry  thought  I  was.  But 
I  did  want  to  make  Ma  stop  blowing  that 
police  whistle.  If  she  kept  that  up, 
she'd  rouse  the  whole  neighborhood,  in- 
cluding the  fat  man  in  pink  pyjamas, 
who'd  seen  me  in  my  nightgown  the 
night  before.  If  there  was  one  person  in 
the  world,  besides  Mrs.  Deane,  that  I 
never  wanted  to  see  again  as  long  as  I 
lived,  it  was  that  fat  man ;  and  probably 
I'd  have  to  pass  him  on  the  stairs  to- 
154 


TWIN  BEDS 

morrow.  Well,  if  worst  came  to  worst, 
we  could  pack  up  and  move  to  another 
flat ;  and  we  would,  too. 

It's  funny  how  fast  your  mind  works 
sometimes.  Here  I  was  planning 
Henry's  and  my  future  in  another  flat, 
and  feeling  pleased  over  what  Mrs. 
Deane  was  going  to  see  when  she  fol- 
lowed me  into  the  dining-room — and  I 
hadn't  reached  the  dining-room  yet. 
And  when  I  did  get  there,  if  things  were- 
n't exactly  as  I  expected  to  find  them, 
all  I  can  say  is  that  mortal  man  isn't  in- 
fallible, and  mortal  woman  even  less  so ; 
for  when  I  burst  into  the  dining-room, 
there  wasn't  any  Mr.  Deane  in  sight. 
Ma  was  there,  though — well,  I  should  say 
she  was ! — waving  a  carving  knife  in  one 
hand,  and  blowing  a  police  whistle  with 
the  other. 

"Here!     Stop  that,  Ma!"  I  yelled. 
"What's  the  matter?" 
155 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Matter?'*  cried  Ma,  who  was  as  red 
as  a  turkey  cock  from  blowing  the 
whistle.  "Matter?  That's  what  I'd 
like  to  know.  Here  I've  been  blowing 
this  police  whistle  for  a  good  ten  min- 
utes, and  nobody  came.  Are  you  all 
deaf,  or  what?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "we  ain't  deaf,  but 
we  're  liable  to  be  if  you  keep  on  blowing 
that  whistle.  We  came  as  quick  as  we 
could." 

"Like  fun  you  did!  Why,  the  police- 
man got  here  as  soon  as  you,  and  I 
wouldn't  wonder  if  he  run  a  block. 
Who's  that  woman  with  him,  Blanche?" 

"That's  his  wife,  Ma." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 

"Well,"  said  Ma,  turning  to  the  police- 
man, "I'm  glad  you're  here,  though 
there  wasn't  any  need  to  hurry  like  you 
did.  .I've  got  him,  safe  and  sound." 

"Got  who,  Ma?"  asked  Henry. 
156 


TWIN  BEDS 

"The  burglar,  you  gump!  What  do 
you  suppose  I  was  blowing  that  whistle 
for?" 

"I  thought  maybe  you  were  fright- 
ened, Ma." 

"Not  likely,"  said  Ma.  "Give  m«  a 
good,  sharp  carving  knife,  and  I'm  a 
match  for  any  burglar,  I  guess. ' ' 

"But,  where  is  the  burglar?"  asked 
the  policeman. 

"He  wants  to  know  where  the  burglar 
is,"  I  screamed. 

"Why,"  said  Ma,  "I  thought  you 
knew;  he's  in  the  china-closet.  I  locked 
him  in." 

"But  where  did  he  come  from?"  asked 
Henry. 

"He  climbed  up  the  fire-escape,"  said 
Ma.  "  I  'd  just  gone  into  my  room  to  get 
a  handkerchief,  and  when  I  came  back  I 
found  him  in  the  dining-room.  Luckily, 
I'd  taken  the  carving  knife  with  me,  so 
157 


TWIN  BEDS 

I  had  it  handy.  I  sprang  at  him,  and 
told  him  if  he  uttered  a  sound  I'd  lay  him 
out  cold ;  and  then  I  marched  him  into  the 
china-closet,  and  locked  him  in.  Now,  I 
guess  the  policeman  can  do  the  rest. 
I've  done  enough,  it  seems  to  me,  if  I 
do  say  so  as  shouldn't." 

* '  I  should  think  you  had ! ' '  said  Henry. 
" You'd  better  unlock  the  door,  officer, 
and  arrest  the  burglar. ' ' 

"Just  a  minute,"  I  said.  "It  isn't 
really  a  burglar;  Ma's  mistaken." 

* '  How  do  you  know  it  isn  't  a  burglar  ? ' ' 
asked  the  policeman. 

"Because,"  I  said,  "when  Mr.  Deane 
left  the  flat,  he  didn't  leave  by  the  front 
door,  but  by  the  fire-escape;  and  as  the 
fire-escape  doesn't  lead  anywhere  except 
to  the  roof,  it's  probably  him  come  back 
to  get  his  shoes. ' ' 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 
"If  my  husband  did  leave  by  the  fire- 
158 


TWIN  BEDS 

escape,  it  was  because  he  was  afraid  of 
being  murdered. ' ' 

" Murdered  your  grandfather's  hind 
leg!  Mr.  Deane  left  by  the  fire-escape 
because  he  didn't  have  any  idea  where  he 
was,  and  because  the  front  door  was 
locked  and  bolted,  and  I  had  the  key." 

"You  see,"  Henry  explained,  "he 
woke  up  before  I  did,  and  stole — " 

"He  didn't!"  cried  Mrs.  Deane. 
"How  dare  you  say  my  husband  stole?" 

"Stole  out  of  the  flat,"  said  Henry. 

"He  just  as  good  as  stole,  though;  he 
broke  our  best  water  pitcher.  If  you 
don't  believe  it,  I'll  show  you  the  pieces," 
'  I  said.  But  before  I  could  open  the  side- 
board drawer,  Ma  demanded  to  know 
why  the  policeman  didn't  arrest  the 
burglar. 

"Have  I  got  to  do  everything?"  she 
asked.  "I  will  say  the  New  York  police 
are  mighty  quick  in  answering  a  call,  but 
159 


TWIN  BEDS 

as  for  doing  anything  after  they've 
arrived,  give  me  the  town  constable  at 
Centerville  every  time. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Henry  to  the  policeman, 
"why  don't  you  do  something?" 

At  that  the  policeman  went  over  to  the 
china-closet  and  knocked. 

"Come  in,"  said  a  muffled  voice. 

"I'm  coming,"  said  the  policeman. 
"But  I  want  to  warn  you  that  I'm  an 
officer  of  the  law."  And  with  that  he 
drew  a  revolver  from  under  his  coat. 

"Now,"  I  said  to  Mrs.  Deane,  "we'll 
see  whether  my  husband  and  I  are  mur- 
derers or  not." 

"And  we'll  see  that  it  isn't  my  hus- 
band in  there,"  she  replied. 

"Stand  back,  all  of  you,"  said  the 
policeman;  "I'm  going  to  open  the 
door. ' '  And  he  did.  '  *  Now,  come  out  of 
there !"  he  ordered. 

The  man  in  the  china-closet  obeyed. 
160 


TWIN  BEDS 

And  then —  Well,  then  the  whole  world 
seemed  to  go  black.  For  it  wasn't  Mr. 
Deane.  It  was — merciful  Heavens! — it 
was  the  fat  man  from  downstairs! 

When  I  came  to,  I  was  lying  on  the 
couch  in  the  dining-room,  with  my  feet 
higher  than  my  head,  and  Henry  sprink- 
ling cold  water  all  over  my  clean  collar. 

"What's  happened?"  I  said.  "Is  it 
raining?" 

"No,"  said  Henry,  "you  fainted." 
And  then  I  remembered. 

The  fat  man  was  still  in  the  dining- 
room,  talking  to  the  policeman  and  Mrs. 
Deane.  Though  he  had  a  bathrobe  over 
it,  and  slippers  on  his  feet,  he  was  still 
wearing  pink  pyjamas,  and  was  saying: 
"I  was  just  out  of  bed,  and  on  my  way 
to  the  bathroom,  when  I  discovered  the 
burglar.  I  chased  him  through  the  flat, 
out  a  window,  and  up  the  fire-escape. 
Yes,  he  came  in  here,  and  I  came  after 
161 


TWIN  BEDS 

him.  Then  that  she-dragon  attacked  me 
with  a  carving  knife,  and  locked  me  in 
there." 

"Do  yon  hear  what  he's  saying, 
Henry?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Well,"  I  said,  sitting  up,  "I  feel 
better  now." 

"Don't  you  get  up  yet,  Blanche," 
ordered  Ma,  who  was  hovering  near. 
"You  lie  quiet." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right!"  I  said,  though  I 
did  feel  weak  and  trembly. 

"That  policeman  hasn't  arrested  the 
burglar  yet,"  complained  Ma.  "I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  one  of  those 
grafting  policeman  like  you  read  about 
in  the  papers.  Don't  you  let  that  bur- 
glar buy  himself  free,  Henry." 

"No,  Ma,  I  won't,"  Henry  promised. 

At  that  I  got  up,  and  with  Henry's 
help  walked  over  to  where  Mrs.  Deane, 
162 


TWIN  BEDS 

and  the  policeman,  and  the  fat  man  were 
standing. 

"I  heard  what  you  said  about  the 
burglar  in  your  flat, ' '  I  began,  turning  to 
the  fat  man,  "but  he  isn't  really  a  bur- 
glar. He 's  a  poor,  unfortunate  man  who 
drinks  too  much,  and  I  hope  you  won't 
have  him  arrested.'* 

"But  he  ought  to  be  arrested,'*  de- 
clared the  fat  man,  "breaking  into  my 
flat  the  way  he  did,  and  making  a  laugh- 
ing-stock of  me." 

"I  don't  ask  it  for  myself,  but  for 
this  lady's  sake,"  I  said,  pointing  to  Mrs. 
Deane.  ' '  The  man  who  broke  into  your 
flat  is  this  poor  creature's  husband." 

"He  isn't,  either!"  snapped  Mrs. 
Deane. 

"Oh!"  I  said.  "Then  you're  not 
married  to  Mr.  Deane,  after  all?  In  that 
case,  officer — " 

"You  know  what  I  mean!"  cried  Mrs. 
163 


TWIN  BEDS 

Deane.  "I  mean  my  husband  doesn't 
break  into  people's  houses,  and  doesn't 
take  too  much  to  drink.  If  there's  a 
burglar  in  this  flat,  it  isn't  my  husband, 
you  can  depend  on  that !" 

"You  see,"  I  explained  to  the  fat  man, 
"the  poor  lady  has  lost  her  husband,'' 

"I  understand,"  he  said;  "a  widow, 
and  not  quite — "  he  tapped  his  forehead, 
significantly. 

"I'm  not!"  screamed  Mrs.  Deane. 
"This  woman's  a  murderer!  Her  hus- 
band's a  murderer!  Her  mother  attacks 
people  with  carving  knives !" 

"Mad  as  a  hatter!"  murmured  the  fat 
man.  "She  ought  to  be  in  an  asylum." 

"How  dare  you,  sir!"  demanded  Mrs. 
Deane. 

"Humor  her,"  I  whispered;  "it's  the 
only  thing  to  do. " 

"Stop  your  fooling,  Blanche,"  said 
Henry.    "This  is  getting  serious.    If 
164 


TWIN  BEDS 

Mr.  Deane  is  in  the  flat,  we've  got  to  find 
him." 

"Well,  go  ahead  and  find  him,"  I  said. 
*  *  Who 's  preventing  you  ? ' ' 


165 


CHAPTER  XII 

AFTER  Henry,  and  the  fat  man,  and 
the  policeman  had  left  the  dining- 
room  to  search  for  Mr.  Deane,  Ma,  think- 
ing to  be  polite,  walked  over  to  Mrs. 
Deane,  who  she  still  thought  was  the 
policeman's  wife,  asked  her  if  she  always 
accompanied  her  husband  when  he  went 
out  to  catch  burglars. 

"No,  I  don't!"  snapped  Mrs.  Deane. 

"What  did  she  say,  Blanche t" 

"She  says  she  always  goes  with  him 
when  she  can,  Ma." 

"Now,  look  here!"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 
"This  has  gone  far  enough!" 

"Just    what    I    think,"    I    replied. 
"Ma,  did  you  leave  anything  on  the  gas 
range?    Something's  burning!" 
166 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Land's  sakes!"  said  Ma.  "I've 
gone  and  forgot  the  ham!"  With  that 
she  dived  into  the  kitchen  just  as  Henry, 
and  the  policeman,  and  the  fat  man 
came  in  from  the  hall  dragging  the  big, 
covered  laundry  basket  between  them. 

"What  are  you  bringing  that  in  here 
for?"  I  asked. 

"It's  evidence,"  said  the  policeman. 

"He's  inside  it !"  shouted  the  fat  man. 

"What?"  I  gasped. 

"I'm  sorry,  Blanche,"  said  Henry, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "but  I'm  forced 
to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Deane  was  hiding  in 
the  laundry  basket." 

"7s  hiding,"  corrected  the  fat  man. 

"But,  why  doesn't  he  get  out?" 

"Because,"  said  the  policeman,  "I 
told  him  if  he  did,  I'd  shoot  the  daylights 
out  of  him." 

"It  was  my  idea,"  explained  the  fat 
man.  "We've  got  him  so  nicely  crated 
167 


TWIN  BEDS 

that  it  seemed  a  shame  not  to  ship  him 
to  the  police  station  the  way  he  is. ' ' 

"I  suppose  you've  planned  to  label 
him  'Burglar.  Handle  With  Care,'  "  I 
said. 

"No,"  admitted  the  fat  man.  "Just 
the  same,  it's  a  good  idea." 

"It's  good  as  far  as  it  goes,"  I  said, 
"but  it  goes  too  far;  that  laundry  basket 
is  not  to  leave  this  house.  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  think  of  treat- 
ing the  poor  man  that's  inside  like  that !" 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  came  in  a  trembling 
voice  from  inside  the  basket. 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice,  Mrs.  Deane 
went  as  white  as  a  sheet.  "Henry!" 
she  gasped.  "Henry!" 

"It's  your  wife,  Mr.  Deane,"  I  said. 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  followed  by 
a  groan  from  the  basket. 

"You  can  get  out  of  the  basket  now,  if 
you  want  to,"  I  said. 
168 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Don't  want  to  get  out,"  said  Mr. 
Deane. 

' '  Henry  Deane,  you  stop  making  a  fool 
of  yourself,  and  get  out  of  that  basket!" 
commarfded  Mrs.  Deane. 

"All  right,  my  love,  if  you  insist." 
With  that  the  cover  flew  off  the  basket, 
and  the  poor  man  stood  up,  looking  like 
a  balloonist  who  'd  lost  everything  in  the 
world  but  the  basket  of  his  balloon. 

"Ha,  ha!"  roared  the  fat  man. 
"That's  funny!" 

"Keep  quiet!"  said  Henry.  "Don't 
you  think,  Blanche,  that  we'd  better  with- 
draw, and  leave  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Deane 
alone?" 

"Oh,  please  don't!"  begged  Mr. 
Deane. 

"You  get  out  of  that  basket!"  said 
Mrs.  Deane. 

"I  won't!"  said  Mr.  Deane,  with  un- 
expected firmness.  " I  '11  have  you  know, 
169 


TWIN  BEDS 

Josie,  that  I've  passed  a  most  uncom- 
fortable night. " 

"  Serves  you  right !"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 
"You  get  out  of  that  basket,  and  come 
along  home." 

1  'Land  of  love!"  cried  Ma,  coming  in 
from  the  kitchen.  "What's  that  man 
doing  in  your  laundry  basket,  Blanche  ?" 

"He — he's  measuring  it  for  a  lining," 
I  said.  '  *  Be  quiet,  Ma ! ' ' 

"If  you  think  I've  been  enjoying  my- 
self," Mr.  Deane  began — 

"No,"  said  my  Henry,  "he  hasn't  en- 
joyed himself.  I'll  swear  to  that." 

"What's  more,"  said  Mr.  Deane,  "I 
won't  be  ordered  about." 

"Quite  right,"  said  the  fat  man. 
"I'm  a  widower,  myself;  but  I  remem- 
ber—" 

"I've  undergone  the  greatest  mental 
anguish,"  continued  Mr.  Deane.  "Last 
night,  when  I  thought  you  had  twins — " 
170 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Me?  Twins?  He's  lost  his  mind," 
said  Mrs.  Deane,  turning  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  way  to  me. 

"And  no  wonder,"  I  replied.  "He's 
had  a  terrible  experience.  I'm  sure 
some  one  must  have  given  him  knock-out 
drops." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Deane,  eagerly.  "I 
remember,  now.  Knock-out  drops — 
they  gave  me  knock-out  drops. ' ' 

"So  you  see,"  I  said,  "you  couldn't 
blame  him,  Mrs.  Deane. ' ' 

"But  it — it's  all  so — so  strange,"  she 
faltered. 

"Life  is  always  strange,  dear 
madam,"  said  the  fat  man. 

"There's  one  thing  I  think  you  ought 
to  do  for  your  wife's  sake,"  I  said 
severely. 

"I'll  do  anything  you  suggest,"  de- 
clared the  grateful  Mr.  Deane. 

"It  will  be  hard  to  do,"  I  said,  "but 
171 


TWIN  BEDS 

I  fear  it's  necessary.    I  think  you  ought 
to  resign  from  the  Elks." 

"I  will,"  promised  Mr.  Deane.  "I 
pledge  you  my  word,  I  will. ' '  Unfasten- 
ing the  Elk  emblem  from  the  lapel  of  his 
coat,  he  extended  it  solemnly,  and  I  took 
it  and  handed  it  to  his  wife,  who  looked 
mighty  tickled  to  get  it. 

"Oh,  Henry!"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  quite 
overcome. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Deane.  "I 
would  do  far  more  than  that  for  you, 
Josie  dear." 

"Then  get  out  of  that  basket,  and  take 
me  home. ' ' 

"I'm  sorry,  my  love,  but  I —  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I — I  haven't  any  shoes." 

"They  are  in  my  bedroom,"  said 
Henry — "with  your  wallet.  Come  with 
me. "  And  Mr.  Deane  climbed  out  of  the 
laundry  basket,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Deane 
followed  Henry  out  of  the  room. 
172 


TWIN  BEDS 

"Well,"  said  the  policeman,  "I  don't 
see  as  you  need  me  any  longer." 

"No,"  I  said.  "You  can  go  now,  if 
you  like.  Just  let  yourself  out  the  front 
door.  Good-morning." 

"As  for  myself,"  said  the  fat  man, 
when  the  policeman  had  gone,  "I  must 
ask  your  permission  to  make  my  exit 
through  your  kitchen  window.  Other- 
wise, I  can't  get  into  my  flat,  for  I  came 
off  without  my  keys." 

' '  Certainly, ' '  I  said.  ' '  And  thank  you 
very  much  for  coming  to  our  assistance 
last  night. ' ' 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  the  fat  man, 
with  a  polite  bow.  "Good-morning, 
ladies." 

All  this  while  Ma  had  been  looking  on 
kind  of  dazed.  But  after  the  fat  man 
had  disappeared  through  the  kitchen 
window,  she  wanted  to  know  what  it  was 
all  about. 

173 


TWIN  BEDS 

"What  did  you  let  the  burglar  escape 
for?"  she  demanded,  meaning  the  fat 
man. 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Ma!"  I  replied.  "He 
wasn't  a  burglar!  He's  a  neighbor  of 
ours  who  lives  in  the  flat  directly  under- 
neath. You  see,  there  was  a  burglar  in 
the  flat,  and  he  chased  him  up  the  fire- 
escape.  He  thought  the  burglar  came 
in  our  window,  but  he  probably  went  up 
on  the  roof." 

"But  if  there's  a  burglar  on  the  roof, 
why  didn't  you  tell  the  policeman  about 
his  being  up  there ! ' ' 

"I  was  going  to,  Ma,  only  the  man  who 
came  in  to  measure  the  laundry  basket 
told  us  that  the  burglar  on  the  roof  had 
already  been  captured  by  another  police- 
man." 

"Great  grief!"  said  Ma.  "These 
New  York  policemen  are  certainly 
wonders.  Did  you  notice  that  man  in  the 
174 


TWIN  BEDS 

laundry  basket  didn  't  have  any  shoes  on 
when  he  got  out  ? ' ' 

"As  if  I'd  let  a  man  get  into  my 
laundry  basket  with  his  shoes  on,"  I 
said.  " You'd  better  look  after  the 
breakfast,  Ma.  Here's  Henry,  and  he's 
starved  to  death." 

" Thank  Heaven,  that's  over!"  said 
Henry,  dropping  into  a  chair. 
*  'Blanche,  why  in  the  world  did  you  make 
such  a  point  of  having  Mr.  Deane  resign 
from  the  Elks?" 

"Because  last  night  he  told  me  he 
didn't  really  belong  to  'em,  and  only 
wore  that  Elk  button  for  his  wife's  bene- 
fit, so  he'd  have  an  excuse  to  go  out 
Saturday  nights." 

1 1  Oh ! "  said  Henry.  * '  Has  it  occurred 
to  you  what  a  lucky  man  Mr.  Deane  is  ?  " 

"How  do  you  mean  lucky?" 

"Why,  his  stumbling  into  our  flat  the 
way  he  did,  and  his  getting  into  my  bed." 
175 


TWIN  BEDS 

"I  don't  see  anything  so  lucky  about 
that,  "I  said. 

"Well,  I  do,"  said  Henry. 

"Oh!"  I  said.    "Youmean—  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Henry.  "I  mean  it  was 
lucky  for  Mr.  Deane — mighty  lucky !  that 
you  bought  those  twin  beds." 


176 


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